


Let's Face the Music and Dance!

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Iwaoi, Established Matsuhana, M/M, sidepairing daisuga - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Working in a coffeeshop hadn't been Kyoutani Kentarou's grand plan, but it's one that proves to his dad that he does want to do something with his life. He doesn't like it much, not least because his boss Oikawa Tooru and his co workers are either idiots or tossers- usually both. So he doesn't care if they give him a wide berth. And he especially doesn't care if Yahaba-fricking-Shigeru has a date with a cute girl who works in the office round the corner.No, he doesn't care at all.Until he sees them dancing ...





	1. humming a different tune

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story for Helena, Bracari Iris on tumblr, for the Haikyuu Secret Santa exchange. 
> 
> Helena asked for either an Iwaoi, a Daisuga, a Kyouhaba or something featuring the Seijou boys. 
> 
> So this is a mixture of everything, but mainly a KyouHaba coffeeshop au, which spiralled. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy as I had a lot of fun writing it.

The frost in the air nipped not just at his nose but his fingers as Kyoutani Kentarou got off the bus on this way to work. Muffling his face in his scarf, he plunged his hands deep into his jacket pockets in an attempt to stop his hands freezing and pondered why he could never find his gloves. It was like the whole world at wintertime entered into a conspiracy to deprive his hands of warmth.

 _Cold hands, warm heart!_ His sisters used to giggle, whenever they held onto his. And he’d scowl at them, not wanting to think about hearts or any of that lovey-dovey crap. Both married now, they didn’t hint he should be settled, but instead sighed at how wonderful it must be to be single and have ‘all that freedom, Kenta-chan!’

Freedom? Yeah, he guessed so. But it was only freedom if you bothered to open the door of your cage.

***

The call for overtime was usually one Kentarou ignored. It wasn’t compulsory, and while he could have used the money, he’d rather not cater some poncey party to help out his boss, especially when said boss had made it clear that Kyoutani Kentarou was the last person he’d call on for help.

(“He hardly has a pleasing demeanour, Iwa-chan,” he’d heard his boss drawl, the first day he turned up to work.)

So when the sheet asking for wait staff was pinned to the staff notice board, Kentarou ignored it, and carried on his way to the storeroom to pick up another box of coffee cups.

Sometimes he wondered why he stuck the job. It was hardly his thing, having to be nice to people or at least not actively throwing coffee at the dumbasses who changed their mind, or asked for more milk after he’d fitted the lid over it, necessitating him removing it and usually slopping some over his hand and ...ghrrrr!

(“He gets the job done, and he’s got a decent brain, you should give him a chance.”

“He’s not a people person.”

“So, there’s you for that. And Yahaba-kun.”)

Then he’d remember it was Iwaizumi-san who’d made enquiries and got him the job, and working in something consistently and with no hint of nepotism, could only enhance his college application.

That and the idea of letting down Iwaizumi-san left an unaccountable hollow in the region of his chest.

After unloading the cups and making sure the lids were stacked properly and in easy reach of all the servers - not just Kindaichi who was a good eleven foot taller than everyone else -  Kentarou replenished the wooden spills, ensured the sugar packets were in the bowl and not all over the counter, and then wiped at a ring of dried up coffee that had been missed from one of the tables the night before.

One of Yahaba’s tables.

He frowned to himself. It wasn’t that he particularly liked the guy, with his mop of blonde hair and even-teethed smile, or was in _any_ way concerned, but it was unlike Yahaba to be distracted enough to not do his job properly. He was diligent, to the point of irritation, and such an arselick to their boss, Kentarou wondered if he’d ever pull his head out of Oikawa’s butt.

“Yes, Oikawa-san. No, Oikawa-san. I’ll do that right away, Oikawa-san.” And fuck, the dreamy look he got in his eyes when Oikawa-asshole bothered to spend a moment praising him for something, was enough to make Kentarou sick.

He scrubbed at the table, wondering why he hadn’t left the stain there to land Golden Boy in the shit. But then Golden Boy hadn’t arrived yet, which was another thing that perturbed, or rather another thing that didn’t bother him in the slightest, but was unusual.

“Mad-Dog-chaa-an, we’re opening up soon,” Oikawa trilled. “And the napkins have yet to be replenished. Really, that should have been done last night! I cannot leave this place for a second, can I?”

“Ah, my fault, Oikawa-san,” Yahaba replied, rushing in from the back, and tying his apron at the same time. “I told Kyoutani I’d lock up so he could catch his bus.”

For a moment, Kentarou thought he saw Oikawa’s eyes narrow, but his mouth stayed in its upward curve as he perused Yahaba, and then he huffed. “Well, make sure one of you sorts out the napkins. Oh, and Shigeru-chan?”

“Yes?”

“We are catering an event on Saturday. I presume you want to work.”

“Oh ...” He blinked several times and his head drooped. “S-sorry, Oikawa-san, I ... uh ... I’m unavailable this weekend.”

“Really? Oooh, do you have a date? Are they cute? Of course they are because you’re cute, Shigeru-chan. Where are you going? Tell me immediately. I promise I won’t turn up, unless you want me to. I could book a table with Iwa-chan, and if you need help with conversation then you can signal ... We need a signal ... Rub your nose, no, it might look as if you have a cold. Your ear, rub your lobe and -”

A hand cuffed Oikawa’s head. Sugawara (call me Suga) - the joint owner and baker for the coffee shop, appeared with a plate of breakfast muffins. “Leave him alone, Tooru. He doesn’t have to account for his movements.”

“Koushi, you ruin all my fun.”

“However.” Suga’s eyes twinkled and the tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth, “If I were to tell you that a certain personal assistant of Daichi’s dropped a certain barista off this morning then –”

Kentarou stalked back to the stockroom for the napkins, trying to drown out the squawks of protest from Yahaba and the shrieks of delight from Oikawa. _(CUTE CUTE CUTE!)_ Kicking the door closed behind him, he pulled down another box with one hand then cursed to high heaven when it crashed to the ground and the paper napkins spilled everywhere.

“Well, fuck you, too!”

Something moved in the corner – or rather someone, as Kindaichi Yuutarou (he of the immense height) hovered by a sack of flour.

“Can I ... uh ... help, Kyoutani-san?”

“I’m fine!” he snapped, and bent down to gather them up. “And stop with the ‘san’ shit! You’ve been here longer than me!”

“But... you’re ... older,” Kindaichi gulped and backed himself even further into the corner, almost stumbling over the flour. “Uh ... sure, Kyoutani.”

The door opened, a voice appeared as bright as the shop light seeping through the gap. “Kindaichi-kun, can you fetch some sugar as well, please?”

“Yes, Suga-san!” He practically stood to attention, grabbed the provisions then scampered out of the room.

The door remained open though, and Suga sidled inside. “This ‘do’ we’re catering for at the weekend.”

Kentarou cleared his throat readying himself to frame his refusal without swearing. (It was hard to swear at Suga, or even to think of anything approaching a bad word because he smiled so sunnily and could always dispel Kyoutani’s gloom, even if it were momentarily.)

“I know you won’t want to serve, although if you did want to, then you certainly can,” he began.

“I really -”

But Suga held up his hand, stopping his protest, “Would you help me with the catering?”

“Catering?”

“Yes, canapés, sushi rolls, cakes, brownies, that sort of thing.” He stepped closer, then bent down to pick up a few of the napkins. “It would mean working Friday evening and in the kitchen on Saturday.”

“Uh...”

“I could _really_ do with a hand,” Suga put in. “This event is ... um ... well, it’s bigger than the usual parties, and I want to make sure it’s ... um ... good.”

“Um.”

“Time and a half. Oh, and Monday off. How about that? I’ll clear it with Tooru.”

“Can I think about it?” Kentarou turned away, picked up the rest of the napkins and bundled them back in the box. “Need to check ... things,” he lied.

Oikawa by now would have laid on the charm with excessive sickliness, and then got a sour dig in at the end, but Suga merely smiled once more and said ‘of course’.

 

Sawamura Daichi wandered into the cafe on his way to work. He called a cheery ‘hi’ to them all, ordered two coffees, and then lingered by the glass cabinet staring at the muffins.

“Did Sugawara bake these this morning?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Kentarou reigned in his bark. Of course, he did! Sugawara baked new batches every morning.

“Uh... okay.” Sawamura backed off a little, gnawed his upper lip, then asked, “Could you tell me what’s in these ones, only my assistant doesn’t like ... um ... citrus and I’m not sure if ...”

“They’re blueberry,” Kentarou said, sullen although he wasn’t sure why.

“But do they have ... uh ... peel in them? I know sometimes Suga ... Sugawara puts orange rind in to add extra flavour and –”

 _How the fuck would I know?_ He scowled. “The chocolate ones are just chocolate,” he muttered.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at almost the same time as a faint musky fragrance  wafted towards him.

“Would you like to speak to Suga about the muffins, Sawamura-san?” Yahaba asked, leaning towards him and brushing his arm against Kentarou’s. “I’m sure he’d be happy to go through the ingredients with you.”

“Um ...yes, if he has the time, that would be ...good. I’ll wait in the corner.”

“Shall we hold the second coffee for you?” Yahaba asked. “It’ll be cold by the time you get to the office.”

“Yeah, good idea. Maybe I should call, tell them I’ll be a little late.”

“Why are we obliging that asshole?” Kentarou hissed to Yahaba. “He implied the muffins weren’t fresh. He’s being picky just ‘cause he has money and –”

“Because Suga-san would be more than happy to go through things for him,” Yahaba replied, in a tone so condescending Kentarou had to resist an incredibly strong urge to slap him. “It’s called customer service, Mad-Dog, not something you understand.”

“Quit calling me that.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not my name.”

“Whatever.” Yahaba flapped his hand, then scooted off to the kitchen, returning a short while later with Suga.

It must have been hot in the kitchen, for Suga’s cheeks were pinker than they had been, and for someone who was usually so busy this time of the morning, he seemed remarkably pleased to be taking a break to talk to a difficult customer.

The morning rush began. Most customers picking up their drinks before hot-footing it to the office. Having been there a month, Kentarou was now well versed in what the regulars drank and would be reaching for correct cup, or syrup before they’d spoken. Most times, he was correct, but of course there’d always be the odd customer who on a whim would deviate from the norm. And then there were the actual odd-ball couple who’d bowl in and change their mind every single time. Infuriating, but at least they weren’t dull.

“Cappuccino, Makki?” Oikawa cooed when he saw the first one.

“Hummmm. I just don’t know,” Hanamaki mused. “I’m not sure what I fancy today. What’s new?”

“Got any Pumpkin spiced latte? I’m in the mood for that,” his lanky companion, Matsukawa –known-to-Oikawa-as-Mattsun, asked.

“It’s December, so no,” Oikawa answered. “How about ...” He turned around, viewing the (blank) specials board, and then through gritted teeth said, “We do have a mulled wine flavoured latte, or the Irish Coffee.”

“I can’t go to work drunk, Oikawa!” Makki scoffed. “What are you thinking?”

“Hair of the dog in your case,” Oikawa retorted, but fondly. “You certainly look as if you need a pick-me-up. Besides, they’re alcohol free. It’s the spirit of the drink rather than the actual ... uh ... spirit.”

 “Flat white,” Makki deadpanned.

“Yeah, same here.” Mattsun’s mouth had drooped downwards, and he shivered. “Mulled wine flavoured coffee ... that’s plain _wrong_!”

Trying to hide his snorts, Kentarou made the coffees, adding a dribble of milk to Matsukawa’s cup, and a touch more to Hanamaki’s.

“They need lids,” Oikawa chided.

“They don’t always leave straight –”

“He’s right. We’re sitting in this time,” Mattsun interrupted. “Ah, a decent cup of coffee, thank you, Kyoutani-kun, and just the right shade.”

Hanamaki quirked him a smile, too, picked up a packet of sugar, then meandered through the tables, finding one (not so coincidentally) right next to Suga and Sawamura.

“Sawamura, fancy seeing you here!” Matsukawa crowed.

“What are you devouring?” Hanamaki demanded.

“Muffins. They’re very good,” Daichi replied, licking a crumb from his lips.

“I meant with your eyes,” Hanamaki teased. “How are you today, Sugawara? Not too busy to come out and talk then?”

“Ah ... well ... this was ... um ... business,” Suga replied, getting hurriedly to his feet. “So ... um ... a lemon and poppy seed muffin, right?”

“Yes, that’s ... good.” Sawamura replied, a little dazed. He got up, too, approaching the counter and waited while Suga put one of the larger muffins in a box.

“Coffee,” Kentarou murmured, placing the second cup on the counter.

“Sorry?”

“Caramellatte with a sprinkle of cocoa powder,” he replied as he fixed the lid. “For your assistant.”

“Oh ... right ... Yes, that’s what she likes.”

“But the muffin, you said she didn’t like citrus.”

Sawamura blinked, his eyelids fluttering up and down. “Yes, you’re right. That’s what I said. Sorry, Suga... uh... wara. Can I change this for chocolate?”

“Of course.”

The exchange made, Sawamura left the shop with only one minor backward glance.

“Twat,” Kentarou muttered under his breath.

“Why?”

Dammit, he hadn’t known Oikawa was so close, and now he’d no doubt get a bollocking.

Taking a breath, Kentarou stared up at his boss. “Because he dragged Suga-san out of the kitchen to go through the muffins, specifically because his assistant doesn’t like citrus, and then he wants to buy her a lemon one anyway.”

“Oh, I see ...” Instead of the slapdown, Oikawa smiled at him. “Shigeru-chan?”

“Yes.”

“Does Yacchan like lemon muffins?”

“Pardon?”

“Does she eat citrus?”

“Uh ... yes. She had the lemon drizzle cheesecake last week.”

“Huh?”

Oikawa tapped Kentarou’s cheek. “I think Dai-chan was looking for an excuse, and Koushi was only too happy to indulge him.”

“What?”

“You may have a good head for figures and your memory for drinks is exceptional, Mad-Dog-chan, but you cannot read people well at all.” Then he frowned. “Also, who was supposed to change the specials board?”

_Dammit. That was supposed to me._

But it had been threatening rain, he’d wanted to catch the earlier bus, and Yahaba had been insistent that he could leave, and ... _I forgot to leave him the specials list._

“It’s –”

“My fault,” chimed Yahaba. “I am so sorry, Oikawa-san. Shall I do it now?”

“Hmm. Very unlike you,” Oikawa pronounced, but didn’t push it any further. “Yes, do it now. Mad-Dog, tables please.”

 _He means nothing by it,_ Iwaizumi-san had warned. _Be more concerned if he calls you by your actual name, all right?_

Most of the morning passed quickly and without any incident. Kentarou was filling coffee orders (as usual) with Kindaichi, while Oikawa and Yahaba served, dispensing smiles with the same sweetness as Suga’s muffins, and then when the lull came before the storm of lunchtime, Kentarou cleared the tables.

Irritated, he wondered why idiots always decided to stuff paper napkins in the dregs of their drink, and if any of them had heard of the concept of using a plate. He wiped down each surface, loaded china on a tray to be washed and plucked paper cups and straws from the floor. The cafe bin was almost full, so he emptied it, tying up the bag and wandered through to the kitchen to dispose of the rubbish.

“Take it out to the yard would you, Kyoutani-kun?” Suga said.

“Sure.”

“Have you had your break?”

“Nope.”

“Have it when Yahaba’s back, then. And help yourself to a drink. Also, I baked some cookies but they’re a little on the ... uh ... well done side, so no good for the customers.”

“Thank you.” He stared at the platter, thinking he’d barely have noticed the brown edges a month ago, but since starting here, he’d become attuned to the standards of the place.

Nibbling on a cookie in the back yard was Yahaba, a cigarette in his hand and a coffee on the window ledge.  He nodded to Kentarou, raising his cigarette-holding hand so the plume of smoke swirled above his head. “The cookies are good.”

 _And you’re telling me why?_ Kentarou swung the bag into the air, where it arced then dropped into the skip.

“Make sure you take one,” Yahaba continued.

“Yeah.”

“Not like Suga-san to burn a batch,” Yahaba said, with an air of someone wanting to make conversation. “Must have been distracted.”

Shrugging, Kentarou strode back across the yard. It was cold and he didn’t want to spend time outside when he could be in the warm, but, then again, Yahaba was clearly trying to initiate a conversation and he guessed after earlier ... He stopped walking, folded his arms across his chest, sticking his hands under his armpits (more because he was cold than anything else) and faced Yahaba.

“You didn’t have to cover for me with Oikawa,” he muttered. “I should’ve done the board before I left, or given the new menu to you.”

“Hmm, and I should have replaced the napkins and wiped the tables properly, but I didn’t, so really it’s my fault.”

“Whatever.” He began to move again, figuring Yahaba had finished.

“Want one?” Yahaba chirped, holding out a packet.

“What?”

“A cigarette?” He flicked it open with his finger, waving the packet under Kentarou’s nose.

“I don’t smoke,” he said, shaking his head.

 “You don’t?”

“Not since I was sixteen.”

 “And what happened then?” Yahaba asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“I was told kissing me was like snogging an ashtray.”

“Oh ... wow ... rude, I guess?”

“Was it? Thought it was honest.” He shivered, suddenly aware he’d come out in his work clothes and didn’t have the luxury of Yahaba’s thick jacket. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your ... uh ... smoke.”

“Yes, not sure I will now,” Yahaba said, scowling before he laughed. “I’m drinking coffee, too, maybe I need to get hold of some mouthwash.”

“Like I care,” Kentarou muttered and turned back, striding towards the kitchen and the warmth, and muttering idiot under his breath.

“Who’s an idiot?” Suga asked.

“No one.”

“Hmm?”

“Me, probably,” he replied. “Uh, Sugawara-san?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to help with the catering, if the offer’s still open.”

“Of course it is. Thank you, and I’m sorry it was such short notice.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got nothing planned this weekend.”

Which was true. And he might as well spend it here rather than at home ignoring his dad when he told him he needed to find a proper job, and wishing he had some place to be.

 

He’d finished his break and was readying himself for the lunchtime rush when Iwaizumi dropped by. The owner of a gym the other side of town, it was unusual to see him around this time of day, but the poster and leaflets in his hand told the story.

“Tooru, can I leave these here?”

“Hmm?” Oikawa turned his head. “Oh, Iwa-chan, yes you may. If you want to pin a poster on the notice board that’s fine, too.”

“What’s this?” Suga asked, picking up a leaflet.

“I’m fundraising for local kids,” Iwaizumi explained.

“It’s a mentor scheme,” Tooru added. “Iwa-chan runs them at his gym, hoping to turn out useful citizens.”

“Oi! Don’t be so patronising!” Iwaizumi snapped. “Some of these kids have really shitty lives and I think they should channel that anger into something useful and inspiring.” He fanned more leaflets across the counter. “This year, they’ve formed a volleyball team and we’re raising money for equipment, kit and stuff, but really it’s more awareness I’m after, and ... sponsorship ...”

“Don’t flutter your eyelashes at me, Iwa-chan, I’ve already said we’ll provide food and drinks.”

“I’ll bake a special range of cakes,” Suga mused. “Give the proceeds to the team.”

“Maybe create a new drink,” Kindaichi mumbled.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Suga agreed, and patted him on the back, causing Kindaichi’s cheeks to pink.

Kentarou snorted and resumed wiping down the counter.

“Kentarou-kun?”

“Uh, yes, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Are you around at the weekend?”

“Not Friday or Saturday, sorry.”

“Mad-Dog-chan has actually agreed to work overtime,” Oikawa said, a little waspishly. “Must be Koushi’s charm.”

“Sunday?”Iwaizumi asked, ignoring Oikawa. “Only I wouldn’t mind your help with the team, especially with your experience.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He rolled his shoulders, early preparation for powering that ball over the net. Be good to practise again, teach a few plays maybe, take a training session.

As he turned away to get Iwaizumi a coffee. (Black, strong, none of that muck!) he saw Yahaba and Kindaichi staring at him, expressions quickly turning blank when they realised he’d noticed them.

“Can I tempt you to something sweet now you’re here, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asked, with a smirk.

“Mmm, I shouldn’t, but what’s good?” He glanced across at Kentarou, accepting the coffee.

“Angel cake,” Oikawa suggested. “To remind you of yours truly.”

“Not that I need reminding, but –”

“Devil’s Foodcake,” Kentarou suggested, keeping his face straight.

“We don’t have any on the menu today, Mad-Dog,” Oikawa began, then scowled. “Oh, very funny.”

Iwaizumi grinned. “Yeah, not bad. Ah, tell you what, give me a slab of your cheesecake, Tooru, and I’ll eat in, if you can join me.”

As they sat at one of the tables near the counter, just in case Oikawa needed to get back, Yahaba sidled up to Kentarou. “Just because Iwaizumi-san lives with Oikawa-san, it doesn’t mean your connection with him excuses you being rude.”

“What?”

“And not in front of customers!”

“You think that was rude?”

“Disrespectful, yes!”

“So he’s allowed to take the piss out of me in front of customers, and in front of people I know, and I’m not allowed a slight joke.”

“He is the boss.”

“Yeah, and if he has a problem, then he can talk to me,” Kentarou growled. “And I doubt he needs a lickarse like you defending him.”

“Boys!” Oikawa’s voice rifled towards them. “There’s a queue starting to form. You can’t leave everything to Kindaichi.”

 Yahaba’s good mood from earlier had dissolved like coffee granules in hot water. And for his part, Kentarou could sense clouds darkening over his head, weighing heavy on his scalp. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to release the pressure, but his head had started to pound.

The lunchtime rush began, and Oikawa returned to the fray, dishing out compliments with the food and smiling on all and sundry. Yahaba copied him, adding what sounded like a very fake tinkling laugh, so Kentarou stuck with making coffee, even though he could have swapped.

Although busy, the two hours passed smoothly, and Oikawa pronounced himself pleased with everyone. He even smiled at Kentarou. “Iwa-chan left these for you,” he said, and brought out some forms. “You need another reference, I think.”

“Uh ... yeah.”

“Well, I can do it, but ...”

_Oh, here goes. Gonna make me crawl over broken glass to get your favour._

“As Iwa-chan’s already given his and I’m living with him, it would be better if you ask Koushi. He is joint owner, so it makes no difference.”

“Oh ... cool ... Th-thanks.”

“Don’t look so surprised. I do recognise that you’re a good employer, and if this is what you want to do, then I really should encourage you. Can’t have you following in your father’s footsteps, can we?”

“Uh, yeah.” 

Once again, Yahaba and Kindaichi exchanged looks. They said nothing, but Kentarou had the distinct impression Kindaichi was avoiding him for the rest of the day.

 

 


	2. such a fine and natural delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Dancing in the Moonlight by Toploader

It started to snow when they closed for the night. Yahaba had again said he’d stay behind, and after their spat, Kentarou felt no compunction to help him. He trudged to the bus stop, thinking longingly of his fleece-lined boots rather that the sneakers he was wearing, and wound his scarf tighter around his neck. It was when the bus approached that he realised he didn’t have his keys, and as no one would be home, he’d have to wait around in the cold for an hour.

“Bollocks!”  He’d have to go back, and hoped Yahaba would be in the front of the cafe and see him as soon as he arrived.

Of course, Yahaba wasn’t there. The lights were dimmed, but there was no sign of him. Kentarou groaned, knowing he was probably in the stock room, or the kitchen. He walked round the back. The gate to the yard was locked, but looking over his shoulder, and not seeing anyone, he leapt, grabbed the top of the wall with his frozen hands, and hauled himself up to sit on the ledge. He’d intended to drop down, bang on the door, collect his keys and then scurry back for the next bus. He certainly hadn’t intended to stay where he was straddling snow topped wall, where anyone could mistake him for a burglar. But the trouble was, he wasn’t alone. And it would have been fine if it were just Yahaba there, but he wasn’t alone, either. He was the very opposite of alone, having his arms full with a girl.

She was short, wearing a pale pink hat with a bobble, woollen mittens and a scarf. And although he couldn’t see her hair, he knew it was blonde. Down in the yard with Yahaba was Sawamura’s assistant, Yachi, or Yacchan as everyone appeared to call her.

He had nothing against her. When he first started working in the cafe, he’d found her indecision irritating, but at least she didn’t change her mind once he’d started making the coffee, and she was always very grateful when he remembered she liked a little extra milk in her coffee. She was, when he thought about it, a genuinely nice person, and one who would be embarrassed at being caught in a compromising position.

Except it wasn’t that compromising. One minute she’d been in Yahaba’s arms, and now she was spinning away from him, while he shimmied across the yard in the opposite direction, then twirled back to the centre to meet her again.

Or tried to. Yahaba’s feet didn’t move in the same way as Yachi’s. He didn’t glide, but rather stomped, and ended up treading on her toes.

“OW!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m useless, aren’t I?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she yelped, hopping on one foot as she turned, and then she shrieked. “SHIGERU, THERE’S SOMEONE ON THE WALL!”

“Huh?” He whipped around. “Who’s there? I’m calling the police!”

“Lighten up, asshole, it’s me!” Kentarou retorted, then dropped down to the ground. “Sorry to disturb your ... uh ... whatever it is, but I left my keys and you weren’t answering the door.”

“Oh ... right ... um ... okay then. It’s Kyoutani,” Yahaba explained to Yachi.

“Yes, I can see.” She smiled at him, a little nervously, but he wasn’t sure if that was a natural condition with her, or whether she was genuinely scared of him.

He didn’t particularly want to find out so stepped towards the kitchen door. “I’ll leave you to your ... uh ... date.”

“We’re dancing,” Yahaba countered.

“Yeah, sure.”  He slouched through the door, through the kitchen and picked up his keys, which he’d stupidly left in his apron pocket.  He could leave now, although he’d have to wait longer for the bus, which was a pain in the arse, and he considered staying here in the warmth for a while, but Yahaba’s voice reached him again, and he decided he’d rather be dead from cold than choking on their brand of syrup, so he zipped his jacket right up to his neck, and decided to brave the snow.

But then the phone rang. He hesitated, meaning to leave, but as it continued to ring, and Yahaba clearly wasn’t coming inside to answer it, he reached over and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Kyoutani-kun?”

“Uh, yeah. Is that  you, Sugawara?”

“Yes, it is. What are you doing there?”

“Forgot my keys.”

“Ah, fine. Where’s Yahaba? I need to speak to him.”

“Uh ... he’s ...”

“He is there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s in the toilet. I’ll get him.”

“Well, don’t disturb him,” Suga laughed. “I can wait. Actually, you can help. Could you go to the fridge and tell me how much cream cheese we have?”

He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves, then checked the smaller one. “One carton.”

“Right, thank you. I’ll get some more.” He paused, adding suddenly. “You play volleyball, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I’d make cake pops in the shape of volleyballs for Iwaizumi’s team, so you can help me design them. Or team shirts, perhaps.”

“Oh, right.”

Silence.

“Is Yahaba finished yet?” Suga asked. “Only I need to ask him something else.”

“Yeah, hold on, I can hear him,” he lied, and ran to the door.

Yahaba was dancing again, or rather he was rather clumsily lurching around the yard with Yachi in his arms. She had a pained smile on her face, but was managing to keep her feet out of his way. Seeing Kentarou, she stopped and pushed Yahaba away.

“Suga-san’s on the phone,” he explained. “Needs to talk to you.”

“Oh, right.” He grimaced at Yachi. “I better take this.”

“Yes, no problem. It’s too cold anyway. I ... uh ... could do with a break.”

_Before he breaks your foot_. He thought, and was surprised at the sympathy he felt for her.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Huh?”

That sounded good, the warmth could curl inside him like a cat by a fire, sustaining him while he waited for the bus.

Yachi blinked up at him, proffering an empty mug. “I have a flask, and you look blue with cold. Don’t you have gloves?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, okay.” She stepped back, biting her lip.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled. “I meant I had no gloves, but if you’ve enough hot chocolate to spare, then yeah, I’d like some.”

Yahaba glanced over, receiver in his hand and gave Yachi a small wink. “Ah ... yes, Suga-san, I’ll ask when I next see her. No, it’s not a problem. Mmm, mmm, yes, goodnight.”

Pouring Kyoutani a drink from her flask, Yachi began to giggle. “What does he want to know now?” she asked Yahaba.

“When Sawamura’s birthday is.”

“December thirty-first. Oh, and Sawamura wants to know what Sugawara’s favourite food is.”

“Uh...” Yahaba frowned. “Um ...it’s not the sort of discussion I’ve had with him.”

“Anything spicy,” Kentarou cut in. “Oikawa complained the first day I was here that he’d been round to Sugawara’s and could still feel the hole in his tongue from the chillies.”

“Wow, good memory!” Yachi’s eyes were round. “You’d be a better go between than us.”

“What?”

“My boss, Sawamura-san, is ... um ... interested in Suga-san, and –”

“You can’t have missed the way Suga blushes every time Sawamura turns up,” Yahaba said, grinning. “And he’s suddenly available to talk to a customer.”

“Oh ... right.”

“That’s why the biscuits burned this morning.”

“Why doesn’t one of them just ask the other one out?” Kyoutani muttered, and took a sip of his drink.

“Well, that would be the easy option, but Sawamura-san can’t quite believe Suga would be interested in him, and from what Shigeru’s said, Suga-san is the same.” She sighed and looked a little dreamy. “Waiting for that perfect moment. It’s _so_ romantic.”

Meeting Yahaba’s eyes, Kentarou was vaguely surprised to see a raised eyebrow and what looked like the stifling of a snort, hurriedly turned into a cough.

“I should clear up,” Yahaba said, “then we can practise some more.”

“Sure!” she replied brightly (a little too brightly) and when he’d gone, she winced and tentatively toed off her shoe.  Her white sock had a splodge of red across her big toe.

“Ouch.”

“Ha, I’m used to it,” she said.

“We have plasters.”

“Hum, you don’t have a magic wand that can turn us into pros overnight, or at least passable dancers for Saturday, do you?”

“No wand. Why Saturday?”

“We’re going to my work party and there’s a dance competition. I thought it would be fun, you see, but ... uh ... Shigeru’s quite nervous and he doesn’t want to let me down, which makes him more nervous, and –” She stopped suddenly, and then took another breath.  “It’s not about winning, but ... um ... the thought of being the centre of attention is now terrifying and I think maybe I should quit, but then Shigeru will think it’s all his fault and I’d hate to do that to him, but – Haaaa, why did I start this. I’m just as bad as him!”

“No, you’re not,” he said at last when he could get a word in edgeways.

“Sorry?” she stared at him.

“I watched you for a bit, and you look as if you know what you’re doing. _Your_ posture’s good, and you’ve got the steps, just ... uh ... need to stop him treading on your feet.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. Also, he’s not holding you right. He’s not leading you,” Kentarou said, rubbing the back of his head as he thought back.

“Yes, I know.”

“So it’s hard for you to lead and follow, which is what you’re trying to do because you’re steering him, and also trying to think about your own steps, which –”

“What would you know!” Yahaba demanded, his face black as pitch. “Let me guess, you’ve watched a show or two and think you’re an expert!”

“Dance lessons from the age of six, and two sisters who wanted me to practise with them,” Kentarou snapped back. “And one of them is a dance teacher now, all right!”

“D-Do you still dance?” Yachi whispered, eyes goggling.

“Sometimes. It’s good exercise,” he replied, wondering why the fuck he felt he had to explain.

“Then could you ... would you ...”

_No,_ he thought, _absolutely not._ But looking down he saw the patch of blood on her sock and could feel the warmth of the hot chocolate she’d poured for him spreading through his body. 

She’d noticed he was cold and that he had no gloves.

“He won’t,” Yahaba chided. “No point in asking. I’m sorry, Yacchan, I’m a horrible dancer. Maybe if I pull out, or fake a broken ankle, then –”

“But you’d have to fake it for ages as half the office come in here.”

She’s a nice person. There aren’t many of them in the world.

“I could pretend to be ill,” Yahaba was saying.

“Hmm, but then you won’t be able to attend at all and no one will believe –” She shook her head, two tiny heart earrings glistened in the light, and Kentarou could see the first glimmer of a tear in one eye. “Sorry. It’s not important.”

“I’ll help,” he said on impulse, then shrugged, making light of the offer. “Next bus isn’t for an hour, so I’ve got time to kill.”

 

As he’d thought, Yachi was a natural. Light on her feet, she might have been a beginner, but she listened well to instruction and had an innate sense of rhythm. She hadn’t acquired much in the way of skill in her steps, but she could keep her balance and as Kentarou led her across the backyard, she began to bob up and down in time with him, relaxing in his arms.

“Hands in this position, right?” he yelled to Yahaba, who was watching at the side. “You need to be in control, or at least look as if you are.”

“Yeah, cheers.”

“I’m not being sarcastic,” he snapped. “If you can’t actively lead, then you need to at least look as if you are.” He brought the dance to a halt. “Come and take over. Let me get your posture right.”

Yahaba nodded, gave Yachi a small grin then, placed his arms around her.

“Up a bit,” Kentarou instructed. “And move the other hand to Yachi’s waist. Now, you’re going forwards, while she goes back, so you have to control it.”

“Yes, I know.” He moved, immediately stepping on Yachi’s foot. “Fuck ,I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re too stiff!” Kentarou explained.

“It’s cold, that’s why.”

“Then warm up by dancing.”

“And injure Yacchan even more,” Yahaba moped. He dropped his arms and stepped back towards the kitchen. “This was a dumb id-”

Fuck this!  And now Yachi looked like she was going to chuck it in too, when they’d been making progress. “Oi, you’re not quitting before you’ve even had a go, are you?” Kentarou taunted.

“Uh ...”

“Get back here!”

“I’m cold. Look, if I practise tonight in my room, then –”

“No.” He strode over, grabbing Yahaba’s arm. “Warm up with me.”

“What?”

He leant closer, angling his mouth up to Yahaba’s ear. “You lead, I’ll follow. Just to get you warm, and then you and your girlfriend can have a go.”

“Huh?”

“Just fucking give it a go,” he snarled.

“Why are you bothering?”

“Because she’s a nice kid. And my bus isn’t for another forty minutes, so I might as well be here.”

“S’pose, I could.”

“Good. Now, hands. Clasp one of mine. Then one above the waist.”

“You have a waist?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Yahaba’s hand was on his back, but he could barely feel it. “Support,” Kentarou said, and pressed his palm into Yahaba’s shoulder. “Like that. I know Yachi-kun is ... uh ... small, but you won’t crush her.”

“’K.”

“Now move your right foot. Slow, slowly ...”

Yahaba was moving. He was looking down, checking his feet and Kentarou’s continually, but his shoulders hadn’t stiffened.

“Try turning me.”

“You what!”

“Turning me around. No, not a spin,” he said, hoping he sounded patient. “Just a few steps.”

“You’re not moving.”

“Because you’re not steering. Move me the way you need to go.”

“Yacchan doesn’t need me to do this. She generally pulls me the way we have to go.”

“It’ll be easier for you, for both of you, if you can at least look as if you know where you’re going.”

“Wow, thanks!”

“She can avoid your feet. You won’t trip up, and it’ll look passably good, if –” He grinned as Yahaba suddenly turned him around. “That’s it! Agh, don’t stiffen up! Relax!”

His head was still down, examining their feet, but he was warming up, and his movements were looser that before.

(And under the street lights, his hair shimmered.)

He stumbled.

“Why have we stopped?” Yahaba asked.

“Uh... sorry... Right, ready for a go with Yachi?”

“Oh ... yeah ... sure.”

He schooled them for thirty minutes, calling out a few instructions, but letting them feel at ease rather than overloading them with information. And although Yahaba still had a tendency to use his toes rather than the balls of his feet, he was managing to not use Yachi’s feet as the dancefloor.

“Ha, this is fun,” she called out, laughing. “Can we try the spins now?”

Her face was bright, flushed with the exercise and the sheer joy of dancing, of clicking with something or someone, and having the pieces begin to fall into place. And Yahaba, too, was clutching her tight, smiling widely, pleased at what he’d achieved. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she laughed up at him.

The warmth inside of Kentarou had cooled, the milk no longer soothing but curdling. He shivered then bunched his hands into fists and stuffed them in his pockets. “I should go,” he said. “My next bus will be along soon.”

“I can take you home,” Yachi offered, and broke free from Yahaba’s embrace, hesitantly touching Kentarou on the arm. “Please, Kyoutani-san. You’ve been so helpful!”

His eyes flicked from her hopeful, friendly face, and to Yahaba’s. Thinking he was unobserved, Yahaba’s head was tilted, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth which had curved upwards, now drooped at the corners. And then his eyes met Kentarou’s and he resumed his neutral expression.

“We shouldn’t take up more of Kyoutani’s time, Yacchan,” he murmured, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “And maybe he wants to get home now.”

_Jeez, you think I’m moving in on your girlfriend?_

“I live out of town. It’s not a good drive in this snow,” Kentarou began, then stopped, seeing Yachi’s sparkling eyes begin to dull.  Why the fuck was he letting Yahaba dictate his actions? “Look, I’ll get the bus, but I’ve got time now to go through spins, okay?”

“Ah, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried and twirled on the spot. “Very quick, I promise.”

Maybe it was the cold, or Yahaba’s odd mood, but his posture had reverted to how Kentarou had seen it when he’d first hopped over the wall, and he’d started to stick his bum out.

“All you need to do is turn inwards, and keep your feet moving,” Kentarou said. “Or, if that’s too much, then stand still and wait for Yachi to get to you, then grab her hand and pull her into you.”

“I thought I was supposed to lead! How can I lead if I’m not moving?”

“Yeah, think of this as ... uh ... a command.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Imagine you’re Oikawa, standing in the middle of the cafe and ordering us around.”

Yahaba straightened his shoulders, released Yachi into a clockwise spin, then instead of twisting to the side, stayed where he was and thrust out his arm. Yachi turned back, twirling anti-clockwise, and landed back in his chest, missing his hand.

“Oops,” she giggled.

“Yeah, you need to have linked hands by that stage.”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

Gritting his teeth, Kentarou attempted a smile, but Yachi flinched so he figured he hadn’t pulled it off. “I’ll be Yachi, you grab my hand,” Kentarou instructed and took Yahaba’s arm, wrapping it across his chest. “Right, I’m going to spin out. You stay where you are ....

“You release Yachi,” he told Yahaba, letting his hand drop. “She continues spinning .... Got that, Yachi?”

“Yes,” she said, through chattering teeth.

“Right, when I get to this part, three turns perhaps, Yahaba, thrust your arm out again, like gesture to me, or rather Yachi, and she’ll spin back,” he said, and started to twist the other way. Fast on his feet, he arrived back to Yahaba’s side, grabbed his hand and then folded Yahaba’s arm around him, landing with his head on Yahaba’s shoulder. “Like that, okay?”

Yahaba let go, as if touching hot coals, and scowled. “I’m supposed to be spinning too.”

“Yeah, but you currently trip over your feet, or break Yachi’s toes, so do this version tonight, and then see what happens.”

“Why can’t we at least practise with me spinning?”

“Because it’s nine o’fucking clock at night, it’s started to snow again and in case you hadn’t noticed Yachi is fucking freezing!” Kentarou yelled.

“And Kyoutani-san has no gloves,” Yachi put in, and peeped up at Yahaba. “Can we practise this way, one or two more times, and then we can work on it tomorrow?”

“Oh, shit I’m sorry,” Yahaba mumbled, and gave her a hug. “You’re cold and I’m being a selfish bastard.”

“You’re not selfish. You’re doing this for me.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.  Kentarou stamped his feet, trying to feel his toes again. Yachi flashed him a grateful smile, he received a curt nod from Yahaba, and then they practised again.

It was five more times, not two. The pair of them finally stopping when Yachi tripped, and crashed into Yahaba. He held his ground though, setting her upright, and neither of them looked miserable.

“We’re getting it,” Yachi said happily. “Kyoutani-san, are you sure you don’t want a lift?”

“No, you’re good. I’m going now.”

“Thank you so much,” she said for probably the tenth time, and tugged on his arm. “This was so good of you.”

“S’fine. Had nothing else to do,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, thanks,” Yahaba said, his hand on Yachi’s shoulder. “I should lock up.”

And it was so proprietary, that Kentarou could not stop a snort erupting from his throat. He didn’t even bother trying to disguise it with a cough, but turned away, raising his hand. “See you tomorrow, Yahaba. Yachi-kun, good luck for your dance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our boy's got moves!


	3. can't start a fire without a spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makki's reaction to his coffee selection is the same as mine.

 

The snow was thick on the ground the following morning, and it took an age for Kentarou to get out of bed. He had a later shift, starting at ten, and relished the fact he could lie in bed a little longer and not have to listen to his Dad chunter on about ‘the direction your life is taking!’

On his bedside cabinet were the forms for college, Iwaizumi’s reference already written, all he needed to do was get Suga-san to write his.

He hadn’t thought he’d like working in the cafe, Oikawa’s words about him not being a people person had rung true, because it wasn’t something he enjoyed. But it was something he knew he had to work at, which was why he’d taken Iwaizumi-san’s advice and applied for the job. And although he would never have Oikawa’s flirtatious manner, Suga’s headlamp smile, Yahaba’s easy smile or even Kindaichi’s rather nervous likeability, he was getting to know the customers, and learning their quirks. Matsukawa and Hanamaki appeared to like him, often sharing a quips, and as all most of the customers wanted was their coffee made the way they wanted it and quickly, he considered he was doing a reasonable job. 

Hungry and thirsty, he pulled on some sweats and sidled to the kitchen.

His Dad was there, working at the kitchen table on his laptop, but it was too late to back out.

“Not working today, then?” he asked, his tone implying both blame and interrogation.

“Later shift,” Kentarou replied. “Thought you’d have left by now.”

“I’m visiting clients. What time are you back tonight?”

“Not sure, sevenish, maybe.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry, I missed the bus and went back to the cafe.”

“It was open?”

“No, I helped clear up rather than wait in the cold.”

“And got paid? Tell me you got paid for staying back after work.”

“No, but if it makes you feel better,” he snapped, “I used some of their electricity to keep warm!”

“Don’t get smart with me. When are you going to get a proper job?”

“I have a job.”

“How long will that last? Just ... Take a look at yourself, Kentarou! Not even a _cafe_ is going to keep you on looking like that! They’ll boot you out as soon as they can, you know that!”

And to give Oikawa his due, he’d never once suggested that Kyoutani’s hair was a problem, or the eyeliner, merely that he should smile more, and that suggestion had died down recently.

“Or maybe I work in a place where they don’t actually give a fuck what I look like,” he muttered, and making himself a coffee, and grabbing a banana, he stomped back to his bedroom.

He got washed and dressed quickly, deciding he didn’t give a fuck about his later start, and headed out of the house. He wondered about going to the gym, but not only would Iwaizumi be busy, he’d barely have enough time for a decent session before he’d have to leave, so he decided to head for work early. He could sit in the back room and read a paper, or give Suga a hand with the baking.

“OH! Mad Dog-chan, you wonderful person!” Oikawa practically hugged him when he walked in. “Thank you!”

“Huh?”

“Although I wish you’d texted me as I was just about to ring the agency, but no problem now you’re here.”

“Sorry.”

“We’re only a little behind, so if you could help Koushi, then Yahaba and I will deal with everything out here,” Oikawa breezed, and leapt back behind the counter.

“Sorry, what?”

“Kindaichi.” Oikawa said as if that explained everything, then frowned. “Oh, have you not read your messages.”

“Nope.”

“Kindaichi’s called in sick, so we’re a person down. And as Kunimi’s still on holiday, I texted you, obviously. Please tell me you can work?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Bless you!”

Dumping his bag, washing his hands and grabbing his apron, Kentarou entered the kitchen, to see Suga pulling out a batch of muffins.

“Ah good. Can you put these on the rack, while I get another batch in?” He beamed. “Thank you for coming in. We do appreciate it.”

“Um, it was an accident,” he admitted. “My dad was at home and ...”

“Ah, had a row, did you?” Suga asked as he slid another tray of muffins into the oven, closing the door with a swish of his hip.

“Sort of.” The lemon muffins were hot in his hand, but he laid each one carefully on the cooling rack. “Uh, do they need a glaze?”

“Yes, prick them with a cocktail stick, then give them five minutes and you can pour the glaze on.” Suga returned to the centre table, now rolling out a ball of dough. His voice shook a touch. “You don’t have to say, obviously, but if you need someone to talk to about the situation at home and your Dad, then I can at least listen, ah... hi!”

The door had opened, Yahaba stood there. “Suga-san, is there anything for me to take through?”

“Pastries,” he replied, gesturing to the cinnamon rolls, the Danishes, and the croissants. Then he returned to his cookie dough, reaching for a star cutter, and placing each shape on baking parchment. “Anyway, I am here if you need someone to talk to, although I know you have Iwaizumi, so um no pressure, or anything.”

“It’s fine, Suga-san. He’s not chucked me out, well, not yet,” he deadpanned, and tried a smile.

Suga wrinkled his nose, and began to hum, stopping only when Yahaba’s rather leaden steps could be heard as he returned after knocking on the door.

“Uh... are the muffins ready?” he mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Kyoutani’s glazing them. There are some blueberry over there, and the chocolate ones will be a bit late, I’m afraid.”

The breakfast crowd poured in, snappy and fast, very few of them taking the chance to sit down, but snatching their food and coffee on the way to work, and Kentarou was back behind the counter, mixing drinks at double speed. It was almost impossible without Kindaichi there, so Suga appeared, taking on a service role, while Yahaba switched to drinks.

“Okay, what’s new?” Makki said, breezing in. He stopped and grinned at Suga. “You’re allowed out of the kitchen, then?”

“Unusual to see you, Sugawara,” Mattsun agreed, and looked over both shoulders. “And not a handsome owner of a design company in sight!”

“What can I get you?” Suga asked, seemingly unperturbed, although he was flipping his hair off his face.

“Hmm, what’s the Gingerbread Latte like?”

“Wonderful,” Oikawa said.

“Suga?”

“I like it. Is that your order?”

Mattsun nodded.“Yeah, why not.”

“Me, too,” Makki said. “Gotta give these new things a try.”

Ginger syrup in the bottom of the cups, strong black coffee, hot milk to froth, and a sprinkle of cocoa on the top, and voila, the drink was done. Kentarou reached for two lids, just in case, and hovered behind Suga.

“Take out, please,” Makki said, with a smile. “And how are you today, Kyoutani-kun?”

“Uh, good, thanks.”

“Are we going to enjoy this?” Mattsun asked.

“Uh... I guess.”

“Now that’s not very convincing.”

“He’s not your best salesman.”

“You’ve already bought it, though,” Suga said. “And Kyoutani has made it to perfection.”

“He always does,” Mattsun told him. “I could tell as soon as you employed him, Suga, that this guy was gonna be meticulous.”

“Really?” Suga asked, with a smile. “Why was that?”

“Hair.”

Kyoutani tried his best not to scowl, but if Matsukawa was about to launch into a pisstake over the way he looked, and he had to stand there and take it, no doubt getting Yahaba and Oikawa to join in the laughter, then fuck it, he might as well walk now.

_Don’t be stupid,_ a voice that sounded a lot like Iwaizumi’s rang in his head, _that would be proving your Dad right._

Beside him, Yahaba was mixing a coffee for Oikawa’s customer, whisking the milk as he reached for a cup. His hand slowed, and he glanced across at Kentarou, clearly interested in the conversation.

“What do you mean by that?” Kentarou muttered, and stared straight into Matsukawa’s eyes.

“Your tramlines are on point.”

“You take care of your hair. Some of us do,” Hanamaki added, running a hand through his own and smirking at Matsukawa’s unruly mop.

“And your eyeliner never smudges,” Matsukawa added. “So, if a guy is gonna be careful with his own look, then he’s not sloppy with orders.”

“It helps that you’ve never mucked up our drinks,” Hanamaki said. He accepted the cup, holding it to his lips.

And there seemed to be a collective holding of breath as he took his first sip.

“What the –” His mouth stretched into an ‘ughh!’ and he involuntarily shuddered.

“Wow! Love it!” Matsukawa cried. “Great idea.”

“No, no, what fresh hell is this? Take it away!” Hanamaki thrust the cup back on the counter.

“I’ll have it,” Mattsun replied. “Get my weak and feeble lover a Flat White.”

“With extra milk,” Hanamaki croaked.

“Already added,” Kentarou said, handing the drink to Suga.

“Promote that guy to arch ruler of the coffee machine!” Hanamaki proclaimed.

Yahaba huffed – whether due to the conversation or because he’d splashed his hand with hot milk, Kentarou didn’t know, but Makki winked. “Don’t worry, Yahaba-chan, we still a- _dore_ you.”

“Joint rulers,” Matsukawa jumped in. “Cuz of Kyoutani’s attention to detail and your cute smile.”

“You’re making my staff blush,” Oikawa cut in, clearly annoyed at not being the centre of attention. “But, yes it’s true. Dream team employees.”

***

Because they were one short, or two if you counted Kunimi, which no one did because even when he was there, he was seldom actually ‘there’, everyone worked through their breaks. Yahaba got twitchier as the morning wore on, no doubt missing his nicotine fix, and as they continued to work next to each other, Kentarou could sense his growing irritation, compounded when his fingers fumbled picking up a plate and it crashed to the ground.

“F-frick!” he seethed, and bent down to pick up the smashed bits.

“Dustpan and brush,” Oikawa called from the till. “Don’t use your hands.”

Too late. Yahaba lifted up his hand exposing a shard of china sticking out from his finger, and a bigger gash underneath, dripping blood.  He stared at it, glassy-eyed, his face paling.

“Don’t just stand there, get to the bathroom!” Oikawa ordered. “Mad-Dog, can you clear up and ... OH...” He stopped speaking as Yahaba began to weave. “CATCH HIM, SOMEONE!”

The someone was Kentarou, who stepped over, catching Yahaba under his armpits. He was heavier than Kentarou had thought he’d be, clearly not just a beanpole, but with some solidity about him, but although Kentarou stumbled a little under the weight, he managed to adjust quickly and ushered the semi-conscious Yahaba to a chair in the corner.

“What happened?” he said woozily.

“Fainted. Put your head between your knees.”

“I don’t faint.”

“Well ... you did. Must be the sight of blood.”

“Rubbish.” He stood up, wavered again, then sat right back down on the chair. “Okay, I’ll sit for a bit.”

“Have something sweet, Yahaba-kun,” Suga called out. “Not a hot drink. And have you eaten?”  He bustled over with a cookie, and one of the cordial bottles, then. “Get him a drink and dress that cut, will you? It doesn’t look too deep, fortunately.”

“But the customers.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a little quieter now, and besides, Tooru and I used to run this place with no help at all, so I think we can again.” He ruffled Yahaba’s hair. “You really don’t look very well at all.”

“’M, okay. Just bit tired,” he mumbled. “I’m fine, Kyoutani. You go and help Suga-san.”

“No,” Suga said, looking over his shoulder as he started to serve another customer. “I insist. Kyoutani-kun, make sure he eats something. And you, don’t come back until you’ve stopped feeling faint.”

He did look pale, not just from the cut, Kentarou thought, but with dark circles under rather bloodshot eyes. Late night with Yachi, probably and wondered why that made him sour. Settling him in the kitchen, he reached for the first aid box and rootled inside for cotton wool, antiseptic and a dressing.

“Ow,” Yahaba moaned, but softly, when Kyoutani made him open up his palm. “Just give me a plaster.”

“Wash it first,” Kentarou replied. “Run it under the tap to flush any stray china out.”

“Did you take first aid classes at the age of six, too?” Yahaba asked, sounding waspish.

“No, it was my gang life,” Kentarou lied. Yahaba’s eyelids flickered, and he knew he’d guessed right, so elaborated, showing him a scar on his arm. “Living on the streets teaches you how to patch yourself up. Like, this scar? Doctors don’t know how I made it through the night with only my teeth to tear out the bullet and socks to pack the wound.”

“Ha ha – very funny.”

“Your face, Yahaba. You really thought that about me, right?”

“No!” he protested, and huddled up defensively. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been part of a gang. Would you?”

“Not unless you count the volleyball team, and hanging round eating pork buns after practise.”

Yahaba pulled his hand out of the water stream, examining the cut, and his face had more colour now. “Don’t think it’s deep.”

“You won’t have a cool scar to show Yachi,” Kentarou mocked.

“Not like yours,” Yahaba agreed. “How did really you get that?”

“Huh? Oh, I broke my arm, and they had to pin the bone.”

“Serious then?”

“Career threatening injury.”

“Really?” His eyes narrowed. “Now you’re going to tell me you were a violin prodigy or something, aren’t you?”

“Nope. I missed some exams, that’s all.”

“Ah, right. Annoying, I guess.”

“Mmm.”  He didn’t continue, but stared out the window. Career threatening? Not really. That assumed there’d been a career he’d wanted at the time, and not one he was being herded into.

Life changing, yeah. Well, he hoped so.

 

Yahaba spent the rest of the day on the till, Suga flitted between the kitchen and the counter, carrying a timer with him so he could rush back to remove things from the oven, and none of them stopped for lunch.

It was the busiest day Kentarou remembered since starting work. The cold weather hadn’t kept people inside their homes but had made them more likely to stop for a hot drink, bringing in their shopping bags or laptops, and lingering in the warmth, sometimes ordering a second drink, adding food to orders rather than returning to the cold.

Sawamura dropped in, saw a flustered Suga and didn’t pester for a private chat, simply ordering his two coffees, and nodding an acknowledgement to Kentarou, when he handed them over.

“My assistant says hello and thank you,” he told him. “No idea what for, but you’ve got yourself a fan, Kyoutani-kun.”

“Oh ... uh ... thanks.”

“Please don’t tell me there’s a love triangle going on,” Oikawa sighed, and wiped his brow melodramatically. “We’ve only just got the pair of them working harmoniously together.”

Sawamura chuckled but said no more, leaving with his coffees and a last goodbye to Suga. And Suga gazed after him, sighing a little.

“What are we going to do with you, Kou-chan?” Oikawa asked, threading his arm over Suga’s shoulders, and drawing him close. “You do know that you could just ask him out, don’t you?”

“Mmm, but –”

“He’s _not_ going to say no. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“Then why hasn’t he asked me?”

“Perhaps he’s thinking the same thing,” Oikawa continued. “Anyway, one of you has to make the first move, or you’ll be baking wedding cakes for Shigeru’s children and still making goo-goo eyes every time Sawa-chan drops by.”

 

Because he’d fainted and had cut his hand, both Oikawa and Suga insisted Yahaba left as soon as they closed, and thus was not to do the clearing up. He tried to protest, but seeing they weren’t going to budge, he nodded solemnly. Kentarou watched as he pulled out his phone, tapping a message with some difficulty, wincing as he flexed his fingers.

“Ugh!” he stared at his screen, then looked up and caught Kentarou looking at him. “I’ve texted Yachi to say tonight’s off, just waiting for a reply.”

“Why here? Can’t you practise at home?”

“I rent a tiny room with barely any floor space.”

“What about her place?”

“She wants this to be a surprise. Her Mum will be there – she’s the head designer – and has no idea Yacchan has been practising.” He chewed on his lip, gnawing away. “Um, I don’t suppose. You ... um ... could we go to yours?”

“No.”

Introducing Yahaba and Yachi to his Dad and telling him they were going to dance would give him even ammunition in his fight against Kentarou’s lifestyle, but the refusal had come out harsher than he’d meant it to.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s not suitable,” he settled for. “Uh, maybe ask Iwaizumi-san if you could use the gym.”

“The gym?” Oikawa interrupted. “Yahaba, you cannot lift weights with an injured hand, you’ll open up the wound again. And you need to rest.” Stepping closer, he placed his hand under Yahaba’s chin, tilting it to the light. “You look exhausted. Go home and get some sleep. I need you fit for tomorrow. And Yacchan won’t be happy if you have to cancel your date, will she?”

He headed out the front door, shoulders slumped and feet dragging, his phone still in his hand.

“I still have no idea where they’re going,” Oikawa murmured, watching him through the window, probably not even aware Kentarou was still around. “Odd, though?”

“What’s odd?” Suga asked, and handed a cloth to Kentarou, adding in an aside, “If you could wipe the tables, I’ll sort out the kitchen.”

“They do make a very cute couple – how could they not? – but  ...” Oikawa trailed off, his eyes intent on Yahaba. And then a Yachi’s pale blue car pulled up. She opened the passenger door, ushering him inside, and they all saw her peck a kiss on his cheek.  The car chugged off slowly on the snowy roads.

“I must have been wrong,” Oikawa said. “She’s keen if she’s coming all this way to give him a lift home.”His eyes lit up.  “Oh, unless he’s stopping over. Hmm, I do hope she lets him sleep!”

A wet cloth landed in Tooru’s face. “Stop gossiping about other people’s love lives, and concentrate on your own!” Suga chastised, holding up his phone.

“What?”

“Hajime’s been trying to reach you, but you haven’t answered. He’s closed the gym because of the snow and is heading home, so he can give you a lift.”

After Oikawa had left, Suga let Kentarou go, saying he’d finish up and thanking him for covering for Kindaichi. “And here’s that character reference,” he said. “Hope it helps.”

“Ah, thanks.” He held the envelope in his hands, seeing a chink of light in the gloom.

He had a plan, a goal, and working in the cafe was a stepping stone towards that. In a few months time, he might not need it, wouldn’t need them, and could get on with his life, with not so much as a glance back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title is from 'Dancing in the Dark' by Bruce Springsteen.


	4. coming out of my cage (and i've been doing just fine)

Friday brought a break in the weather, the thaw setting the snow to slush and Kunimi returning from his holiday. He was an efficient, if quiet worker, who expended the minimum of effort, but didn’t flag at the end of the day. He was unflappable; the mini melodramas of customers and orders never fazed him. It also helped that Kindaichi calmed down when he was around, not as nervy or spluttering in Kentarou’s presence.

The day was busy, with plenty of customers dropping by to treat themselves before the weekend, but not as exhausting. Not that Yahaba’s manner had changed, the circles under his eyes were just as dark, and he found it hard to raise a smile, not even when Yachi trotted in.

“Hello,” she said, beaming at them all. 

“Good afternoon, Yacchan, are you on a break?” Oikawa asked.

“Sawamura-san is so grumpy and is stuck in a meeting, so I thought I’d buy him a muffin to cheer him up. Oooh, and a hot chocolate for me, please, Kyoutani-san.”

“Sure.”

With Kunimi occupied going through the new drinks with a customer, Yachi lowered her voice. “I never said thank you for the other night.”

“You did,” Kentarou replied gruffly. “And it’s fine. How’s practise going?”

“Ahh, it’s good,” she said, but smothered a sigh with a bright smile.

“Mad-Dog, there are other customers,” Oikawa trilled, and handed over a box containing two muffins.

“Sorry, do you want a lid?” Kentarou asked.

“Uhm, I was thinking of –” Her eyes slid to Yahaba at the till.

“Shigeru-chan, if you want to take your break, then you may,” Oikawa called out, catching the exchange. “ _Especially_ as you have a visitor.”

“Thank you ... I ... um ...” He mimed taking a drag of a cigarette, an action so unsubtle, Kentarou thought he might as well have yelled it across the cafe.

“Out the back, then,” Oikawa said, “you can join him if you wish, Yacchan, although our yard isn’t at all salubrious.” Flicking a look over his shoulder, his eyes met Kentarou’s narrowing a touch. “Clear the tables, Kyoutani.”

Yachi did not stay long, certainly not for the whole of Yahaba’s break, and she scooted back through the back of the cafe, picking up Sawamura’s coffee and muffin, with a half-hearted type of smile. And when Yahaba came back, he looked paler than ever, not exactly miserable, but weary as if he’d given up.

It was later, when Kentarou was stacking chairs and Yahaba had fetched the broom that Suga, who’d been casting curious glances across at him all afternoon, broached the subject.

“Are you sure you’re well today, Yahaba-kun?” Suga asked him. “Did you go to the doctor?”

“It was nothing,” Yahaba muttered. “Sorry to have worried you, Suga-san. Too many late nights, I guess.”

“Well, make sure you have an early one tonight,” Suga scolded. “In fact, you could leave now. Kyoutani and I are preparing the food for tomorrow, so we’ll clear up.”

“Ah, I’d rather stay, if you don’t mind, Suga-san? Yacchan’s giving me a lift home, and she’s running late. I could help you, if you’d like.”

“Hmm, well, with three of us, then I can also make a start on the cake-pops for Iwaizumi, so, yes, if you’re sure you’re okay, then I’d appreciate the help.”

The three of them worked companionably for a while, not in silence because Suga kept up not just a stream of instructions but chat, too. He was a good teacher, something Kentarou hadn’t appreciated before, partly because his orders were wrapped up with a smile, partly because he gave praise when needed, but also because he let Kentarou get on with things and only offered the odd comment when it looked as if he were puzzled.

“There’s a thick raspberry coulis to be made as well,” Suga said, “but I’m out of basil seeds, so I’ll go and get them from home later. Meanwhile if you could pop those brownies in that oven there, Yahaba, and then the wontons in the other one, we can crack on with something else.”

He hummed as he baked, hummed as he wandered to the stock room for ingredients and hummed as he mixed the ingredients together, even when he was preparing onions which left his eyes streaming.

And Suga’s mood gladdened Kentarou’s and had an effect on Yahaba, who seemed calmer and far less twitchy than before.

“Right, we have seasoned pork to roast and cool down. The wontons can be wrapped and refrigerated once they’re cooled, and that first batch of brownies can be packed into boxes. I’ll finish them off on the night.”

“What next, Suga-san?” Yahaba asked.

“Cake pops. I might as well make a start on them. You can help me with the sponge,” Suga said, and pushed a recipe across the table. “Make one batch, for me please.”

“What are these?”

“Cakes moulded into balls and put on a stick. I want to make them look like volleyballs, which is relatively easy, as long as someone has a steady hand to paint the details. We can sell them in the shop, and Iwaizumi can sell them at the gym, too. You could take a box with you, couldn’t you, Kyoutani-kun?”

“Yeah, I’m there on Sunday.”

“You enjoy it, yes?” Suga said, making conversation, possibly not even expecting much of an answer, but Kentarou felt relaxed enough to be honest.

“I used to play a lot of volleyball at High School,” he elaborated. “It’s a good way to channel ... uh ... your energy, I guess.”

“You don’t play now?”

“I was injured,” he muttered.

“You’re okay now, though, aren’t you?” Suga asked, and not waiting for a reply, he continued, “So you could play again.”

“Mmm, it’s commitment. I played to a decent standard at school. Got to Nationals, and then after I was injured ...” He trailed off, determinedly blinking away the memories. “I got into other stuff,” he finished lamely.

“Is that how you met Iwaizumi-san?” Yahaba asked. He was chewing his lip, as if deliberating whether he should pry.

“Well, sort of, I guess. I was outside the gym, and he started speaking to me. Saw the volleyball shirt I was wearing, and asked me about it.” He shrugged, not wanting to show on his face the gratitude he still felt towards Iwaizumi, who’d struck up a conversation, and somehow managed to reach through the scowl to make a connection.  He’d visited two days later, taking Iwaizumi up on his offer to show him around (more to get out of the house, admittedly) and at that gym, at that time, he’d picked up a volleyball for the first time in over a year.

Iwaizumi-san had made Kentarou face facts. And the facts hadn’t been bad, not really, but he’d been drifting since the accident, and was on course to drift in the same direction, when all it took was a little kick of his legs and he could alter the route and end up on a different shore.

“He’s a good person,” Suga said after a while. “Quite why he’s with Tooru, I have no idea.” He rolled his eyes and sighed, but the words were said with affection, which Yahaba only just picked up, changing his face from a scowl to a laugh.

Taking the chocolate sponge from the oven, and blitzing to crumbs, Yahaba fetched some cream cheese, mixing it all together. Under Suga’s instruction, the pair of them divided the mixture into small balls, rolling them in their hands and setting on a plate to chill.

“I need lolly sticks,” Suga murmured, and wandered off to the stock room.

“This reminds me of being a kid and playing with plasticine,” Yahaba said, and grinned as he looked at Kentarou. The grin became a giggle.

“What?” Kentarou asked, trying not to sound sour.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, then giggled even more.

“Mature,” he spat.

“No, it’s ... uh ... you have something on your cheek. Cream cheese, probably.”

“Oh.” He wiped at it, clearly unsuccessfully because Yahaba was pressing his lips together to stop from smiling.

“You’ve made it worse and smeared crumbs in it,” he chuckled, then reached behind to the sink and threw across a cloth.

Which landed right in Kentarou’s face.

Whether he’d meant to do that, or had a ridiculously bad aim, Kentarou never found out, but the fact that the chuckle became a yelp and then a series of snorts, made him think the latter.

“Funny, huh?” He peeled off the cloth, bunching it up in his hand.

Yahaba backed away, his eyes wide and wary, even if his shoulders were still shaking. “Uhm ... look ... it was an accident.” Another snort. “Honest.”

“Really?” He stared at him, baring his teeth, and his other hand reached behind plucking at some of the cream cheese. “Wanna come here and say that to my face.”

“Uh ...” His face fell, and Kentarou could see him swallow the tendons in his neck tautening. “Yes, look, Kyoutani-san, it ... it’s just ... fuck!” He stopped abruptly, back against the counter, and nowhere to go as Kentarou approached. “Do you want me to ... uh ...”

He was blinking rapidly, and for a brief moment, Kentarou thought he was genuinely scared and he considered taking a step back, but then the corners of Yahaba’s mouth twitched.

Kentarou pounced, squidging cream cheese on his fingers, he plastered it across Yahaba’s face.

“No. NO!  Get off!” Yahaba shrieked, and raised his hands up, trying to prise Kentarou’s fingers away.

“Have a cloth!” He smushed it across Yahaba’s face, smudged the cream cheese with his thumb over his cheek, smirking as Yahaba tried to squirm away.

“Not fair!” he squealed. “Get off, me!”

“Make me!” he dared.

“You think I can’t,” Yahaba taunted. And in that second, he furled his fingers around Kentarou’s apron top, and twisted away, holding him at half an arms’ length away. “Ha!”

There was cream cheese in his hair now, and the perfect shining mop now stuck out at the sides, while a daub of white, like a lightning bolt, flared across his face. A contrast to the pinkening cheeks, and the darker lips. A mix of pretty and handsome, the smile lighting him, the frown hardening the planes of his face. His eyes flashed fire, but it was mischievous and tickling, fire that would lightly toast not scald in fury.

Or warm him.

In that second of hesitation (why was he even hesitating?) Kentarou found himself spun around, and now he was the one against the counter, and Yahaba had somehow managed to grab some of the cake crumb mixture and was rubbing it in his hair.

“Ughhh!”

“You’re rocking this look, Kyoutani-kun. Not so much K-Pop, but definite Cake-Pop Idol,” he gasped, finally smearing a line of mixture right down Kentarou’s nose.

“Get the fuck off!” he tried to yell, but he was laughing now, deep from the belly, welling inside.

And then another hand landed on his head, and water trickled through his hair and down his neck. He opened his eyes to see horror leeching across Yahaba’s face, and similar dribbles of water, falling from a sponge being squeezed in his hair.

“They say a bucket of cold water separates fighting dogs,” Suga said, stepping back and frowning at them both. “But I didn’t want to flood my kitchen.”

“We’re not fighting!” Kentarou insisted, then swallowed. “But, sorry, Suga-san.”

Yahaba shuffled his feet. “Mm, we shouldn’t ... um ... the cake mix ... sorry.”

And then Suga laughed, light and musical. “It’s actually good to see you both getting on instead of side-eyeing each other across a counter. Now, I have to go home and collect the basil seeds, so take a break until I get back. And no more food fights, okay?”

 

After he left, Yahaba made use of the dripping sponges and began to wipe down the surfaces. His phone buzzed, so he read the message, tutting a little. “Yachi is still working,” he explained. “We’re supposed to be practising at her house tonight, as her mum is out, but at this rate ...” He paused, tapping out a reply before sliding the phone back in his pocket. “Uh ... Kyoutani-san?”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet,” Yahaba said, sounding horribly reasonable. “I might be about to ask if you’d like me to make you a coffee, or if I could treat you to movie tickets, or maybe I was going to ask if you wanted me to do your shifts for the next week, or –“”

“Is this a bribe?”

“Not exactly.” He grinned, looking impish. “Look, you wouldn’t go over the dance with me, would you? Only you’re excellent, and I’m okay with most of it now. At least I’m not treading on Yacchan’s feet, but I’d like to get a proper handle on the spins.”

And still his instinct was to refuse, but there was no way he could without looking churlish, and even if he wasn’t at all fussed what Pretty-boy Yahaba thought of him, having to explain would be problematic, especially when he couldn’t formulate exactly why he wanted to refuse.

(Just that having Yahaba glare at him was a lot easier to deal with than his smile.)

“I _will_ throw in movie tickets,” Yahaba continued, and held his hands together, offering up a small prayer. “Please?”

And now there was no way he could turn him down.

“Okay. But only ‘til Suga gets back, or Yachi turns up. I’m not hanging around afterwards, or going to Yachi’s house with the pair of you.”

“Deal.” His mouth split into a banana-sized smile, and he practically ran to the door, grabbing his coat and Kentarou’s jacket.

Outside, it was cold, their breath turning to white in the air. Kentarou rubbed his hands together, warming them before they started.

“Still no gloves?”

“Nope. Left ‘em somewhere,” he muttered. “Let’s start before I change my mind. Right, just the spins, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s my footwork. Can you show me what I need to do?”

Kentarou stood in the centre of the yard. He was wearing his work shoes, which weren’t ideal, but were better than sneakers for dancing, and scraped them along the paving, hoping to create some friction.

“As you pivot,” he said, starting the move slowly, “slightly push your knees into the ball of your foot.”

“You mean bend them?” It wasn’t a sarcastic question ... he didn’t think.

“Yup, bend them, but make sure the weight isn’t on your toes or heels.” Kentarou demonstrated, slow and then fast.

“Haaa! Again? And what are you doing with your arms?”

“One across your torso, one in the air, so you can catch Yachi’s hand. Got that?”

“Yes, I have, just ... I thought I was doing that, but you make it look a lot more graceful. Kind of like ballet?”

“It’s practice, that’s all. You try.”

Yahaba placed his arms in an approximation of a pose. He looked stiff, awkward and tense, even under his coat.

“Relax,” Kentarou ordered, then placed his hands on Yahaba’s shoulders pulling them down, before adjusting his arm position. “That’s better. Now, pivot.”

It was clear he was trying, that he’d been attempting to practise, and when he looked down at his feet, going through the move in slow motion, he had it down pat. But when he sped up, his feet seemed to move independently of each other, and he tripped himself, only Kentarou plucking his collar, stopped him from crashing to the floor.

“Try again,” he said. “You overbalanced because you went up on your toes.”

“Ah, okay.”

Frowning in concentration, Yahaba repeated the action, slow at first, eyes still on his feet, he completed the four spins, took a breath and then whistled it out between his teeth. “Faster.”

And this time when he set off, he stopped thinking quite so hard and just got on with it. Kentarou could see by the relaxation of his shoulders and his brow that Yahaba was living rather than remembering the steps, instinct kicking in.

“Yup, that’s good!”

“Really?”

Nodding, Kentarou stepped beside him. “Okay, pretend I’m Yachi.”

“Wow, you’ve changed.”

“Are you this funny with her?”

“Much funnier.”

“You’d have to be,” he grumbled, then span out to where Yachi would stand. “Come on then. Slow at first. Remember to grab my hand.”

They completed the move, Yahaba grinning when he caught Kentarou’s hand, and twisted him in towards him.

And after a couple more goes walking it through, when the moon had appeared from behind the clouds, fanning its light around them, they picked up the speed. Yahaba pivoted – on the balls of his feet – his knees bent, arms perfectly placed, and reached across for Kentarou’s hand. In the moonlight, his face now half pearlescent, half in shadow, he resembled a spirit, one with silvered hair, shining like satin, smooth like silk.

_He’s a tosser, he’s a tosser, he’s a tosser._

At arms’ length, Kentarou could deal with this, but as Yahaba reeled him in, his web spun finer than gossamer, he felt a tearing at his throat and he clamped his teeth together, hoping to cage in whatever sound or word had threatened to emerge.

“Again?” Yahaba said, his white breath clouding his face, smiling as he tossed his head, his hair now crystal as the stars appeared.

“Yeah, ‘K,” Kentarou husked, blinking as he shuffled away.

_Fuck it. This is Yahaba. Not just a tosser, but a straight tosser. STOP!_

Iwaizumi-san had been kind, that was all. Reaching out to a confused barely-adult, telling him everything would work out. The crush had died before he’d made an ass out of himself, controlled by meeting Oikawa Tooru and realising there was no chance.

“Kyoutani-kun, are you ready?”

_He’s a tosser._

He shook his head, hoping to clear his mind, but his thoughts were swirling into mist.

“Yeah, fine. Come on.”

Yahaba was better this time, warmed up and relaxed, he did the move exactly as Kentarou would have done. He gestured dramatically with his hand, caught Kentarou as he pivoted in, spun him around then enveloped him with both arms and into his chest.

“YES!” he punched the air, then with his hand slipping to Kentarou’s waist, Yahaba twisted them both around, laughing as they gyred. “I DID IT!”

He was still laughing, smiling eyes lit by moonbeams and starlight, but both dimming in the shine of his enthusiasm.

“Thank you!” Yahaba whispered, and stared down at him. “You ... you ...”

_Oh fuck, he’s beautiful._

He didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly the breath between then narrowed, the cold night air warmed, and he could see the outline of Yahaba’s lips, a tiny freckle at one corner, and before he could stop himself, he’d tilted his face up. Yahaba’s mouth brushed his cheek. He hesitated, but only for a microsecond, and the groan in his throat leapt forward, and now he’d found Yahaba’s mouth with his own and it wasn’t too late to pull away, to make this an accident, to laugh this off, to -

“Oh!” Yahaba jerked back. “Ha .... s-sorry. I ...” He stared at Kentarou, then closed his eyes, shuttering away the light with long lashes, his face not pearly now, but ashen.

“Hi, guys, where are you?”

“That’s Suga-san,” Yahaba muttered, and wrenched away. “I ... um ... ”

 “We’re out here,” Kentarou called out.

“Fresh air, very sensible,” Suga replied, and appeared in the door. “Right, who wants to make the coulis, and who wants to help me decorate the cakepops?”

Yahaba ran inside, barely a back-glance, the collar of his coat covering his face, and when Kentarou followed, he saw his heels leaving the kitchen, and a short while later heard the bathroom door close, and the sound of a running tap.

What the fuck did I expect? Dumbass Kentarou!

 “What’s the matter?” Suga asked. “You look upset or angry.”

“Stubbed my toe,” he lied. “I’ll make the coulis, Suga-san.”

When Yahaba returned, Kentarou was at the stove, mixing fresh raspberries into elderflower water, his back to the room. With a shaking hand he added the sugar, then sprinkled in a measure of basil seeds, heating gently, stirring continuously and watching as the liquid thickened to an almost jam-like consistency.

“Dip them in the melted candy,” Suga was saying, to Yahaba. “It hardens quickly, and then we paint on the volleyball design. Are you artistic?”

“A bit. I’m not Sawamura standard,” Yahaba replied.

“A steady hand, that’s all you need, Yahaba-chan,” Suga said. The smile in his voice changed in an instant.  “Hey, you’re shaking. Look, don’t worry, I can do these.”

“I’m okay. Just ... um ... S-sorry, Suga-san, I need a glass of water.”

The sink wasn’t that close to the stove, but Yahaba fetched himself a glass filled it up, then shifted along the counter, until he was standing next to Kentarou.

“Um,” he began, his cheeks flushing. He lifted the glass to his mouth, slopping water over the side of his glass. “About earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kentarou mumbled.

“What?”

Deny it.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Sorry?”

“The dance, you’ll be fine,” he persisted.

“N-no, I meant –” Yahaba swallowed, his hand now shaking so badly, he put the glass down and gripped the edge of the counter top. “You ...”

“You won’t need to practise with me anymore,” Kentarou interrupted, then raised his voice. “Suga-san, I think this is ready.”

“Brilliant.” Suga wandered across, tested the coulis and nodded. “Yes, that’s done. We can finish up now, so if you’d like to go, Yahaba can help me until Yacchan gets here.”

“Yeah, cheers.” He wrenched off his apron, brushing past Yahaba in his rush to get to the door. “Bye.”

“See you tomorrow,” Suga replied, sounding puzzled.

“Mmm.”

Stuffing his apron into his bag, changing his work shoes for sneakers, he practically ran out of the door, yelling he needed to catch his bus. And as he fled, a car passed him, small and pastel blue, its driver tossing her blonde hair in time to whatever music blared out on her radio. She didn’t see him, didn’t stop to wave and he slouched further into his jacket.

Yahaba would appear soon, laughing no doubt as she whisked him away. And Kentarou wanted to feel bitter towards her, but that would be unfair, besides his bitterness was against the world that made him, the world that promised much then took away, that left him alone and done with all of this. That allowed this relentless burning in heat and cold, acid running through his veins.

Yahaba and Yachi: The pair of them shone in the dark, like minds, like souls, happy and strong.

And when you were lit by stars, why would you bother with shadows?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sloths were hurt in the typing of this chapter ...


	5. while we still have the chance

The mirror the following morning told the tale of the night – one not spent sleeping but tossing and turning. Finally he’d settled face down in his pillow, the cloth causing creases in his cheeks, the lack of proper rest puffing out his eyes and highlighting the dark circles perpetually under his eyes. He splashed cold water on his face, ran his fingers through his hair, then slapped hard, watching as the red finger shapes appeared.

_I look like shit._

He scowled.

_What’s new._

Kentarou rubbed his face with the towel, then staring back in the mirror, he reached for his black eyeliner.

_Ah, fuck it, what’s the point?_

“No warpaint today,” his dad observed when he slid into his seat at the table.

He didn’t bother replying, knowing his dad didn’t require an answer, just wanted to get the quip in.

“You were late last night.”

“I was working.” He poured himself some juice, took in a breath, knowing he had to keep this in, to be conciliatory. “It was paid overtime. Um, Dad?”

“Mmm?” His dad was checking his phone, flicking through his messages, barely sparing Kentarou a glance.

_Maybe it’s easier that way_.

“Dad, I have some forms for college.”

“Pardon.” He didn’t quite drop his phone, but it slipped half out of his hand. “You’re going back.”

“Uh, I’d like to but –”

“Working in a cafe not proving as fulfilling as you thought?” His Dad smirked. “Well, I’m delighted you’ve come to your senses.”

“No, you don’t understand. I want to do something else. I’m not resuming that course. It’s n-not for me. I’m sorry, I know you w-want me to ... to ...” He glugged some juice hoping to moisten the rasp in his throat. But there was no way to explain, just to show, so he got the forms out of his jacket pocket, and thrust them under his dad’s nose.

He perused them, face expressionless, saying nothing. There was no rant, no raging, no ‘this is hardly the career for you’, but there was no active approval either, no nod of agreement or clap on the back.

Iwaizumi-san had looked surprised but had grinned when he’d broached the subject, Suga-san had been only too happy to give a character reference. Even Oikawa had seemed impressed. But his Dad, well, this was probably a step too far, a different course and the blocking of the old path.

Turning away, Kentarou stared out of the kitchen window. It had snowed again in the night. He’d need a scarf, need to find his gloves, need a hat, or something and hopefully the bus would be warm.

“Is this really what you want to do?”

“Yes.” He sniffed. “I have thought about it, I promise. It’s not just a whim, it’s been on my mind a lot.”

“Since the accident?”

“Yeah, although I wanted to find something else before that.” He tore his eyes away from the haven of the view and back to his dad. “I’ll keep working, so you won’t have to pay. I can defer for a year, and Sugawara-san, who owns the cafe, has promised me a job and I’ll work overtime. I can fund this without you, but I might need to stay for a while so –”

“Kentarou.” His Dad was staring, then got to his feet. “What makes you think I won’t support you?”

“Huh?”

“If this is really what you want, then of course I will.”

“But I thought you wanted me to work for you.”

“Because you’d be good at it and it would keep your mind occupied, but if it genuinely isn’t for you I’m not going to force you.” He raised his eyebrows, then picked his phone up again. “Not sure anyone’s been able to force you to do anything since you were five years old, Kentarou, so why would I start now?”

 

In the kitchen at the cafe, Suga and Yahaba were finishing off the cake pops when he arrived. He couldn’t stop the smile when he saw them, miniature volleyballs in cake form, waiting to dry.

“They need wrapping in cellophane,” Suga said. “Unless you’d like to join Team Paint.”

“Uh, no, I’ll wrap. Anything else needed?”

“Shredding the pork. More wantons more brownies.” He paused, scrutinising his cake pop. “How are you with sushi rolls? Only if you can do that, then I can get on with the cafe food.”

“Sure.” He glanced across at Yahaba, met his eyes, then watched as he did a double-take before flushing and returning to work.

“I’ve smudged this one, dammit,” Yahaba muttered, fumbling his tiny paintbrush.

“You’re all thumbs, Yahaba-kun,” Suga said. “Don’t worry, just wipe it off. Finish that one, and then you can go out the front. Flash that beautiful smile on the customers, okay?”

He nodded dutifully, picked up the brush and with a far steadier hand resumed decorating.

It was a long afternoon, and Kentarou was busy. With the party food finished and boxed ahead of time, he switched to the cafe, clearing tables, serving food, liaising between counter and kitchen, even taking a turn on the till. Yahaba was clock watching, his eyes continually flicking away to the wall whenever Kentarou looked his way, and it was of no surprise to anyone when he asked if it were possible to leave half an hour early to pick up a suit.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re going, Shigeru-chan,” Oikawa said, in what he probably thought was a winning way.

(He was right, it worked.)

“It’s Yacchan’s work do,” he explained. “I’m ... um ... her plus one.”

“OH! Sawamura’s party? That’s who we’re catering for.” He giggled. “Excellent news, I’ll be able to keep an eye on you, give you a few tips, perhaps.”

Yahaba’s horror was evident, and if they’d been speaking, Kentarou would have almost felt sorry for him, but then he remembered the night before, and how he’d recoiled, jerking away and no doubt scrubbing his mouth with soap to get rid of any trace from that faintest of kisses.

“I –I –I didn’t realise. You’re there tonight, Oikawa-san?”

“Yes, I’ll be wearing my finest waiting suit, and will bow very low as I offer you a sushi roll. Or champagne. Maybe I can be the wine waiter instead. That way I can keep an eye on your alcohol intake, Shigeru-chan.”

“He’s teasing,” Suga said, punching Oikawa on the arm and eliciting a loud ‘OW!’  “Tooru is otherwise occupied at the gym helping Iwaizumi. However, I will be there, so if you do want any advice, Yahaba-kun, you have only to ask.” He leant through the glass case, tweaking Kindaichi’s display a little. “Kyoutani-kun I have a small favour to ask.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Can you help me transfer the food to the venue and heat it up? “I won’t ask you to serve, Kunimi and Kindaichi are going to carry the platters, but I could do with a hand.”

He wondered if this had been the plan from the start. Ask for help at the cafe, get him invested and then push that little extra. But then again, what difference did it make? In the kitchen, he’d see nothing. He might as well be there as stay at home. The pictures in his mind would remain the same.

“S’fine,” he muttered and shrugged to show it was really of no consequence.

 

With the van loaded, Kentarou and Suga left as soon as the cafe closed, trundling their way through the traffic and the icy roads towards the venue. It was in the centre of the town, a hall hired for the night, with kitchens at the back. They wandered in, carrying a crate of food each, to be greeted by the sight of Yachi – in a swirl of pink chiffon - on a stepladder, pinning up a garland, while Sawamura stood precariously on a window ledge sticking brightly coloured stars on the panes.

“Just finishing the decorating,” Sawamura said, quirking a smile to them (although Kentarou wasn’t sure he’d actually seen him). “I forgot about it until Yacchan reminded me.”

She descended, pronouncing herself satisfied, then sidled up to Kentarou. “I was going to do this myself, but Sawamura-san wanted to get here early,” she whispered.

“Let me take that,” Sawamura said to Kentarou, and lifted the crate from his hands. “I’ll show you the kitchen, Suga. Um ... Yachi ... why don’t you ask Kyoutani-kun if he can help you. I’m sure he has a better eye for this than me.”

A lie so blatant, Yachi couldn’t keep a straight face, she turned her face away and nonetheless complied. “You can reach higher than me,” she said, “so maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Did Shigeru leave on time?”

“Early,” Kentarou replied tersely. “Something about a suit.”

“Oh, he is a love. I told him not to worry about it, but he wanted to look the part.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I really can’t thank you enough for helping us. He’s far more confident now.”

“He must have worked hard. Both of you.”

“We practised a lot last night. Mum wasn’t at home, so it was much easier.”

The star in his hand had creased, its points sticking into his palm.

“He’s lovely, you know,” she was saying. “Very caring and considerate. And he’ll do anything for you.”

“Mmm, sounds great. Look, I should unload the van. There’s still some prep to do.”

It was easier in the kitchen; he could distract himself with work, because although he knew Yachi meant well, and her chatter was a kind-hearted attempt to thank him, to keep him involved, he needed the solitude that could only be found in keeping busy.

Suga was wrapping gyozas, preparing batch after batch, humming as usual, and didn’t seem to need to chatter as much, smiling to himself as he crimped each dumpling.

“Lettuce leaves are there, if you add the pork to each one, and then sprinkle with the dried ginger,” he instructed. “How are we doing for time?”

“Fifteen minutes.” He peered through the peep-hole door. “Kindaichi and Kunimi are here. They’re in uniform.”

“Good, good, good.” He resumed humming, then stopped. “I forgot to ask, but is the reference okay?”

“Oh ... yeah, it’s great, thank you so much, Suga-san.” He smiled, genuinely, remembering breakfast. “Actually it’s all good. I ... um showed my dad and ... uh ... He’s said he’ll support me, so if I get accepted for this year then –”

“You’ll leave us ...” Suga sighed, melodramatically just as the saloon door creaked open.

“Uh – s-sorry.” Yahaba, wearing a smart pressed suit and ivory shirt, stood in the doorway, a bow tie in his hand.

“Yahaba-kun, don’t tell me you’ve called off your date and have decided to work instead.”

“N-no.” He stopped and swallowed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Bow tie!” Suga dashed to the sink, quickly washing his hands. “Let me fix that for you.”

“It’s not necessary. I know how to –”

“Not a problem. Hold still,” Suga fussed, and threaded the bow tie under his collar. He tied and tweaked, adjusting the knot slightly, before deciding he was done. “You look very handsome, Yahaba-kun.  Have fun, but don’t break too many hearts.”

He backed out the doors, leaving them swinging. For a moment, Kentarou fancied he was hovering and about to come back in, but he must have imagined it because it was Kindaichi and Kunimi who entered, bowling through the double doors, one impassive and one worried, as per usual.

“Offer drinks as they come in. The rest they buy at the bar. Kyoutani-kun, when you’ve finished, would you please take those platters out and lay them on the long table at the back of the room? Also the sushi.”

“Brownies?”

“Not yet. I’ll sort that later.” He flapped his hand, fanning his face. “Sorry, I talk too fast at times. Where was I?” He licked his lip. “Oh, yes, so college in April, you hope.”

“Yeah, if they accept me, and I’m not too late. I’d still like to work, though, just I’ll need fewer shifts.”

“I’m sure we can work that out,” Suga replied. “Watari will be back from his exchange year by April, so it’s possible you could job share.”

The sudden blast of music made both of them jump, focusing their minds on the here and now and not four months time.

“Guests are starting to arrive,” Suga hissed. “It’s show time. Shit!  Does everything look okay?”

Kentarou’s instinct was to grunt out an answer, but Suga-san actually sounded worried, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“It’s fine. Good. Um, great,” he supplied. “Everyone raves about your baking, Suga-san, so they’ll love this.”

“Oh, you are a darling!” Suga whispered and squeezed his arm. “Sorry, I’m not usually this panicky. I just want this to be perfect, so I don’t let anyone down.”

By anyone, Kentarou guessed he meant Sawamura, but having seen his face take on the hue of an eager puppy when Suga had walked in, Kentarou was pretty sure Suga could have served up sawdust topped with snow, and Sawamura would have professed himself delighted.

“You won’t,” he assured Suga gruffly.

 

It was all going smoothly – too smoothly, Suga said much later – and having sent out the last batch of wantons and dim sum, Kentarou was finished. Now half past nine, he took up the offer of a drink in the kitchen with Suga-san, killing time before he scooted for his bus.

“You’ve been a big help,” Suga told him, filling two glasses with fizz. “Ha, I love this bit. We’re on the home straight, just the brownies to go, and then I can pack everything away.”

Kentarou sipped his drink, the bubbles tickled his tongue in a way he wasn’t sure was pleasant. “Do you need more help?”

“Nope. I’ll dust with icing sugar and provide bowls of coulis. The guests help themselves.” He took a larger sip of his drink, then started to unpack the boxes, stacking the brownies on a large silver platter.

It was as he was dusting them, the icing sugar falling from the sieve as relentlessly as snow, that the door swung open.

“It’s all going really well!” Sawamura proclaimed, barrelling in.

But Suga, so startled by the voice, span around, sieve still in his hand, overbalanced and powdered Sawamura instead of the brownies.

“OH MY GOODNESS!  I’m so sorry!” he shrieked.

And it would have been okay. It would all have been fine because what was a bit of icing sugar even if it was forming clouds around the pair of them and Sawamura now resembled a snowman.

Except no one counted on Sawamura’s sneeze, the sugar tickling his nose and setting up such an explosive reaction that he stumbled forwards, sent two bowls of coulis crashing off the table, only just avoiding Suga as he fell.

Into the platter of brownies.

Some of which were squashed under his chest. Most of which flew into the air, cascading to the floor or landing in the sink.

“No, no noooooooooo!” Suga whimpered. He leapt to Sawamura, brushing off the sugar from his suit, barely taking in the horror of the situation. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? That’s blood, that _is_ blood. We must call you an ambulance. Kyoutani, get help!”

“Suga ... it’s ...” Sawamura shook his head, touched the red stain his shirt front, sniffed then licked. “It’s raspberry jam. I’m not hurt.” He ruffled his own hair, sending more clouds into the air and took in the extent of the culinary disaster. “I’ve ruined your brownies. I’m such a klutz!”

“No, it’s my fault,” Suga protested, and started to sniff.

“Can any of them be rescued?” Sawamura asked, eyes wide in semi-comical horror.

“Uh, I doubt it,” Kentarou replied. “I mean the ones on the platter are edible but kinda flat. And the ones on the floor .... there’s broken china down there, too.”

“What am I going to do?” Suga whispered. “Your guests will be expecting something. I don’t even have ice cream, or anything sweet. There’s no time to make anything else and –“

“Look, it’s my fault,” Sawamura insisted. “And I _will_ help you sort this out. How about I dash to the store and buy some desserts?”

“It’s too late.”

Sawamura rubbed his face, clearing away some of the white, and frowning as he thought.

And as if on instinct, some impulse appeared to take hold of Suga, for he raised his hand, and with his thumb rubbed away a smear of raspberry from Sawamura’s cheek, close to his lip. And another instinct must have kicked in – or was it the god of serendipity - for Sawamura turned his face just at that moment and pressed his lips into Suga’s palm. Both froze. Kentarou shuffled on his feet, meaning to turn away, but before he could, Sawamura had let out a muffled groan, and wrapped his arms around Suga, just as Suga twined his hands around Daichi’s neck, fisting his fingers into the short thatch of his black hair.

And it would have been romantic, even if he did feel like a third wheel, with his flaming face and utter horror at being caught up in this, but just at that moment the doors opened yet again. But instead of Kindaichi and Kunimi, who Kentarou had expected to be there to drop off their trays, it was Yachi and Yahaba.

“OH!” she squeaked. “What’s happened?”

“They’ve had their moment,” Kentarou muttered, meeting Yahaba’s eyes.

“And I never even told Daichi-san, Suga-san’s favourite food was spicy,” Yachi sighed and giggled, clutching Yahaba’s hand.

The kissing couple broke apart – Suga pulling away, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You’ve been asking questions about me, Sawamura-san?”

He blushed a deep red, not as all negated by the icing sugar settled on his features. “I ... um ... might have been.”

“That really is cute,” Suga said and booped him on the nose. “Adorable.”

“And Suga-san wanted to know when your birthday was,” Yachi continued, oblivious of the fact she’d just dealt a blow to Suga’s upper hand.

“Oh, is that right?” Daichi asked, and reeled Suga back to him, this time booping his nose. “Adorable!”

Rolling his eyes, Kentarou turned away finding a broom to make a start on clearing up. His feet scraped on a piece of one of the china bowls, and that crunch brought Suga (temporarily at least) out of his love-struck senses. “Desserts,” he murmured. “We don’t have any.”

“What, nothing?” Yahaba asked, and blinked as he took in the full effect of the brownie and coulis explosion. “Oh ... I see.”

 “What’s in those boxes there?” Sawamura asked, gesturing across to four bound up with ribbons that Suga hadn’t wanted to leave in the van.

“Something for Iwaizumi,” Suga replied. “I need to drop them off at his later.”

“The cake pops?” Yahaba asked.

“The ones you were making yesterday?” Yachi added. “They’re cute.”

Sawamura reached for a box, flipping open the lid and pulling out one of the cake pops.  “Volleyballs.” He grinned lopsidedly. “I used to play.

“Not suitable for here, though,” Suga replied, his mouth tilting downwards. “They’re for the kids at his mentoring scheme. Iwaizumi’s going to sell them and raise money.”

“They’re really neat, though!” Sawamura said, twirling one in his hands. “And they’re edible?”

“Um, yes.”

“Then ... could we have them tonight?”

Suga grimaced and shook his head slowly.

“Why not?” Yachi said, in a voice so sweet it didn’t sound like a demand.

“Well, theoretically, I guess they could,” Suga demurred, “but I promised Hajime, and they are for a fundraiser.”

“We could make more,” Yachi exclaimed. “I’d help tonight and tomorrow, I promise. And you would, too, wouldn’t you, Shigeru?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Look, this is very sweet of you, Yacchan,” Suga said, dousing any hope with a stern voice. He shook his head again. “No, I’ll personally apologise to your guests, and I won’t charge you for the any of the food. And if we offer another drink, then -”

Twisting off the cellophane, Sawamura nibbled the confectionary volleyball. “Mmm, these are delicious. And quirky. I like them.”

“Sawamura-san, you can’t possibly –“” Suga smiled helplessly. “They’re hardly sophisticated. Your guests aren’t going to want –”

Sawamura grinned at him, then arched an eyebrow. “Watch me. Now, who can tell me more about this charity? I might as well turn it into a fundraiser at the same time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you experienced and deja-vu with Daichi getting covered in icing sugar ... it's pure coincidence ...


	6. it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Thank you for reading.

After removing his jacket, and washing his face, Sawamura Daichi stepped out of the kitchen, carrying the silver platter. But instead of brownies, they’d piled it high with the cellophane wrapped cake pops.  He approached the stage and after a quick word with the band, grabbed the microphone.

“Hi everybody! Right, there’s something a bit different happening tonight. Before we start the dancing competition, I’d like a word. Don’t worry, it’s not a long speech,” he said, patting his hands in the air. “As you know, the ticket money raised by tonight’s end of year party goes to the local children’s hospital. Continuing that vein, though, we like to support other charities, especially small local ones. So, for your dessert tonight, I’m selling off these.” He grinned and held one up. “They look like lollipops, but they’re actually cake, like a delicious melt in the mouth brownie, only better.

“Now,” he continued, and smiled at his audience, “these cake volleyballs are for a team. It was set up by the local gym, Ace’s, whose owner, Iwaizumi Hajime, runs a mentoring scheme for disadvantaged kids. And, uh, someone who can tell us a bit more about it, is Kyoutani Kentarou, who’s involved in the team.”

His palms were wet, and he tried desperately to unfurl the scowl on his brow, but somehow Kentarou made it from the back of the room to join Sawamura on the stage. He gave the audience a smile (probably a grim one as no one smiled back) and then cleared his throat.

“Hi. Um, these ... uh ... we’re raising money for ... um ... kit and stuff. Like, a lot of the players haven’t got the right shoes. We need shirts and ... um ... that kind of thing. And –”

“Transport,” Sawamura supplied. “To take you to games, isn’t that right, Kyoutani-kun?”

“Yeah,” he replied, grateful Sawamura had leapt in. At the back of the room, Yahaba was making his way through the crowd carrying a jar to collect money, pausing to give Kentarou a thumbs up.

Feeling steadier now, Kentarou continued, “Iwaizumi-san’s scheme helps so many people. It’s ... um ... kind of changed my life, and ... uh ... it’s not just about money, but volunteering, too.”

Yachi had reached Yahaba, threading her arm through his, she too clutched a collecting jar.

Kentarou blanked, and his throat dried.

“Soooo.” Sawamura stepped back to the microphone. “A great cause, and if you could dig deep, then maybe Ace’s Gym will be top of the local league this time next year!” He turned his head to the side, whispering, “Well done.”

“For what? I didn’t say much.”

“You said enough. And having you speak from experience sounds a lot more authentic than me waffling on,” Sawamura whispered, and clapped him on the back. “Right, I better start distributing them.” He twisted around, picking up the platter, just as Yahaba and Yachi reached them. Kentarou glanced sideways, looked away, then did a double-take. Sawamura, from the front, looked respectable, every inch the businessman. But even though he’d taken the precaution of removing his jacket, a set of smudged handprints had smudged their way down to his bum, leaving their telltale imprint.

Kentarou’s lips twitched, and once again he caught Yahaba’s eye, saw that he, too, had seen, and clapped his hand over his mouth to stop the belly laugh threatening to emerge.

“Sawamura-san,” he muttered. “Maybe, I ... um ...”

“Hmm?”

“Your trousers are ... uh ... you might want your jacket,” he whispered.

“Huh?” He looked over his shoulder, saw the proof of Suga’s affections, and blushed crimson, noticeable even under the light. “You’re a saint. Please, I need to sidle away, so can you give these out?”

If he left now, he could just about make his bus and an early night, but he guessed he owed Sawamura, or rather he owed Iwaizumi, and Sawamura had just ensured the fundraiser had been kicked off in style, so he took the platter from him, and went to stand next to Yahaba, while Yachi collected donations.

“You spoke well,” Yahaba said.

“Purlease, I was shit.”

“Heartfelt,” Yahaba replied, and smiled a little sadly. “Iwaizumi-san’s mentor scheme means a lot to you.”

“Yup.” He handed out three cake pops, thanking the lady and listening as she said they were for her children.

“Did you mean it when you said it had changed your life?” Yahaba asked in an aside.

“I wasn’t lying,” Kentarou replied. “I mucked up some exams.”

“Oh, you told me. The accident, right.”

“Yeah. I was outside the gym and Iwaizumi started talking to me. That’s all.”

“And he got you the job at the cafe?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Right.” Yahaba was silent, gnawing his lip as he dished out a cake pop, only giving cursory nods and brief tight smiles.

And it was only when the platter was empty and Kentarou was taking it back to the kitchen, that he spoke again, grabbing his sleeve.

“Kyoutani?” Yahaba murmured.

“Mmm.”

“P-please don’t think you have to leave. I won’t make things awkward again, I promise.”

“What?”

The lights were dimming and Yachi, having handed over the money to Suga, was trotting up to the pair of them. “Dancing next, Shigeru,” she trilled. “Will you stay and watch us, Kyoutani-san?”

She was pretty in pink, her blonde hair haloing around her face, but what shone through the most for Kentarou, was her innate goodness. Yachi was sweet but never cloying, and although he wanted more than anything to hightail it back home, he didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Yeah, sure.” He tried a smile, finding it easier than he thought it’d be. “Don’t let me down, alright? Yahaba, if you tread on Yacchan’s toes -”

“You’ll break mine, right?” Yahaba mumbled. His hands were shaking; nerves clearly taking hold. And then he reached across to clutch Kentarou’s arm. “I meant it, okay.”

Just then the music started, a loud clash of symbols and Sawamura, now with his suit jacket on (his arse mercifully handprint free) leapt onto the stage.

“Me again! I’m not selling anything this time, but I’m here to announce the dance competition is about to begin. So, if you’re taking part, grab your partners now, and if you’re not, please stand back and enjoy!”

 Ignoring his leaden chest, Kentarou slouched up against a wall to watch. The band started to play a medium-paced number, and the first couple took to the floor. Clearly an established couple, they danced well together, practised if a little bland. Yachi was watching them through narrowed eyes, Yahaba was staring at his feet, and running shaking fingers though his hair.

Kentarou wondered if he were dying for a cigarette, or if this was nerves kicking in because they’d be on soon, and then he stopped wondering about anything because Yahaba had lifted his head up, displaying his perfect profile in silhouette, and the heaviness in Kentarou’s chest began to lurch.

He was taking a deep breath, winding his arm around Yachi’s waist, and she had snuggled closer, her hand on Yahaba’s shirt front, trembling with excitement and –

_I can’t take this._

It had just been a kiss. Brief at that. Almost nothing, clearly meaningless to Yahaba, except that it had been enough to send him scuttling away. But enough or rather far too much for Kentarou, who even now, with this distance between them could feel Yahaba’s lips against his. Soft and –

Fuck!

He hadn’t wanted this. None of this. Long ago he’d built a cage, hoping to barricade himself against more hurt. Accepting that Iwaizumi really did only see him as a kouhai, someone he wanted to support, had caused a flinch and a wince, yet he’d got on with life. And Yahaba Shigeru was a tosser. He’d told himself that every day, several times a day, every shift, every movement, every hour.

But this was different. This was burning through fire and ice, unable to handle either. Unable to stay away.

Their song started, Yahaba swallowed, exhaled, and led Yachi onto the floor. And under the light, his hair glimmered, just as it had in the snow the first time they’d danced.

He did not start well - a misstep that nearly caused his to tread on Yachi’s toes - but instead of Yachi moving out of the way, Yahaba corrected himself. The dance picked up pace as they matched each other, and with his hand on her back, Yahaba truly began to lead rather than follow. Liberated, Yachi smiled and bobbed up and down, light on her feet, she span, and shared her joy with the audience. Technically naive, not at all elegant, and yet they were fun to watch, and Kentarou could almost forget himself as the assembled crowd began to clap in time to the music.

The final move, spinning apart, Yachi’s hair a whirl, her dress swirling around her, and Yahaba, arms extended and haughty, his best Oikawa impression. He gestured imperiously, pivoted on the balls of his feet, caught her hand and then enveloped Yachi in his arms. Her hand was on his chest, the music ended and she tilted her face up to his and -

He couldn’t look.

He couldn’t not look.

Yahaba lowered his head, brushed his lips to her cheek, then with his hands around her waist, he lifted her in the air, laughing as he swung her around.

_I get it._

Closing his eyes, Kentarou furled his hands into fists, and pushed away from the wall. He’d go to the kitchen, pick up his stuff and leave right away. The wait at the bus stop appealed now, even in the cold.

In the kitchen, Suga was paying Kindaichi and Kunimi their wages and replenishing glasses with fizz.

“We were just saying we had no idea Yahaba could dance!” Suga said, offering Kentarou a glass, and frowning when he shook his head. “Oh, are you going now.”

“Mmm, yeah. Bit of a headache.”

“If you wait, Oikawa is on his way and can give you a lift, Kyoutani-kun. It really is the least we can do, and he’s dropping these two off, as well.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Ten minutes,” Suga replied, and touched him on the arm. “Iwaizumi’s with him to pick up the money and say thank you to Daichi.”

“Yeah okay.” He couldn’t argue, too weary to assemble his normal defences. He sniffed and said he’d wait outside, needing the fresh air.

“Don’t leave before they get here!” Suga chided.

He lifted his hand, assuring Suga he’d wait, then shuffled along the walls of the hall, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. Not that anyone had noticed him. The third couple were on the floor now, the music thumping a faster beat.

Outside the cold air stung his cheeks, and he rued again his lost gloves. But it was better than being inside, even if he did feel a touch of guilt that he should at least have congratulated Yachi and Yahaba.

Suga’s van was parked around the corner, at the far end of a sea of cars, so he mooched across, dragging his feet across the tarmac.  In the dark and quiet, he could sit and watch stars, so he shuffled down to the ground leaning against the van to wait.

A low rumbling noise reached him. He peered through the cars, but couldn’t see where it was coming from. But there was definitely someone there. Two people, he divined from the different tones and vibrations. He couldn’t make out the words, but the emotions of it reached his ears. And then he heard a car door open, and he huddled down, because standing up, leaning on the bonnet of a pale blue car was a figure he knew very well.

“It’s no good,” Yahaba said, sniffling and wiping his cheeks.

The other car door opened, and soon Yachi ran to his side. “You don’t know that, Shigeru.”

“Yes, I do. It’s bloody obvious.”

“But ... what happened? I thought you were getting on.”

“We were. It was all fine and then we had a practise –”

Huh? Practise ... what’s he talking about?

“And it was fine, you know. He was teaching me the spins, and being patient when I fucked up, and ...”

“What?” she asked gently.

 _Yeah, what?_   Kentarou poked his head up.

“The moon was out, and the stars and it was all ... you know ... it’ was like you said about the moment, and I kind of thought it was then, and I thought he thought that too, and then that thought became ... Oh fuck!”

“Go on,” Yachi urged.

_YES, GO ON!_

“I leant forwards and he was ... really close you know, and I moved or he moved and then ... I swear we kissed and it was fine, but I panicked and ran and ...” The tears were glistening on his cheeks, and Yachi dug into her pocket handing him a packet of tissues. “I tried to talk to him, but he blanked me, said nothing about it, so I guess I made a mistake and I thought I could live with that. Maybe forgetting about it is the best thing because I’d hate things to be awkward. And so, it was all okay – sort of – and we were even laughing at Sawamura-san’s trousers, and I tried to talk to him again but .... but ... he’s _leaving_.”

“Leaving? Is he?”

“And he’s done so well to get where he is, you know. But obviously ‘cause he feels awkward with me around, so he’s quitting the job, and where will he get another one? It sh-should be me leaving. I can talk to Suga-san now, hand my notice in tomorrow, and then if I do that, then he can stay and –”

“WHAT!” Kentarou groaned, aware he’d just said that aloud, and then through squinting eyes, he looked over to find both of them staring at him, abject horror on Yahaba’s face, confusion on Yachi’s.

_Oh ... shit!_

He raised his hand, creeping to his feet. “Hi.”

“Kyoutani!” Yachi squeaked. “How long have you been there?”

“Um, not long. I ...” He chewed his upper lip. “Uh, I heard you saying something about me leaving, and ... um ... I’m not,” he began. “I might be cutting down on shifts, but it’s got nothing to do with ...” Fuck this was harder than he thought. He cast a despairing look at Yachi, who’d tilted her head to one side, eying him with curiosity.

“Maybe I should go...” she said slowly.

“Er... n-no.” _I need help_ , he tried desperately to say with his eyes.

“My mum wanted to speak to me,” she replied, oblivious to his signals. “Mmm ... yes, she did. I’m going ... bye!” And she slunk away, leaving Yahaba still leaning against the car, and looking anywhere but at Kentarou.

“How much did you really hear?” Yahaba mumbled, huddling into his jacket.

“From when you got out the car,” Kentarou admitted. He stepped closer, bridging the gap until he was barely an arm’s length away.

“Ah.” He stared at his hands. “Are you really staying?”

“Kind of up to Suga and Oikawa. I’m hoping to go to college in April, but I still want to do some shifts.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yahaba said, ultra brightly. “It’s really good after everything you’ve gone through. Iwaizumi-san must be so proud.”

“He’s supportive,” Kentarou agreed. He puffed a breath through his lips, wondering where this conversation was heading, whether it would always be this stilted while both of them would talk about everything under the sun except the one thing that had happened by moonlight. “Sorry, what do you mean after everything I’ve gone through?”

“Oh, your accident and ... stuff. Must have been really hard for you picking yourself after that setback.”

“Not that bad. I fell off a wall because I was pissing around with some mates,” Kyoutani said, and leant against Yachi’s car, staring up at the sky. “I was at college, it was the end of year and we were being dumb. I fell and cracked my head and broke my arm. I ended up in hospital for a week and missed my first year exams. Not really that traumatic.”

Yahaba goggled at him. “You’ve already been to college?”

“One year,” he qualified, “I dropped out.”

“Because you were injured? But they’d have taken you back, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah, no problem. It was me. I kind of worked out it wasn’t what I wanted to do, so I refused the chance to re-sit, came home, had my dad shout at me for a while as I looked for a job, and then met Iwaizumi.”

“I thought ... ” Yahaba shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hold on ...” Kentarou chuckled. “Did you think I was one of the kids Iwaizumi-san’s helping?”

“Well, weren’t you?”

“No, I’m a mentor! I help coach.” He threw back his head, letting the laugh escape into the night sky. “Jeez, that’s why you and Kindaichi have been giving me looks. What, you thought I was some kind of gang overlord trying to mend my wicked ways.”

Yahaba scowled, leant on the car bonnet and nudged Kentarou with his foot. “You just admitted Iwaizumi changed your life. And that you were hanging around on the street when he saw you. OH! _And_ Oikawa-san said you shouldn’t follow in your father’s footsteps!”

He pressed his lips together, torn between outrage at their assumptions and amusement at how wrong they’d been. “Dad is Iwaizumi-san’s accountant. I was in his car, which is actually a pretty smart foreign import, when Iwaizumi walked past. He knew I’d been in hospital, had heard I’d quit college and we got talking.”

“An accountant.”

“Yeah, he’s not a deadbeat dad, and he doesn’t beat me up when he’s drunk. I mean, he doesn’t like my hair much, or the eyeliner, and he’d rather I re-sat my accountancy exams, but that’s it really.” He peered at Yahaba, who was fiddling with his tie.  “Sorry, have I ruined your romantic fantasy about bad boys and gang members?”

“No,” he sulked, then shrugged. “A bit. Well, not really. Sort of explains your maths skills. So what are you planning to do now?”

“Physiotherapy. I had some sessions when I bust my arm and found it fascinating.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Nah, it’s kinda normal. Sorry, I’m really dull. I even wear hypoallergenic eyeliner.”

Yahaba snorted, and they fell back into silence, but it was comfortable, Yahaba crossing his hands across his chest. And it was nice, just being close and not sniping at each other. Pleasant, like friends could be.

Except, he wasn’t sure he wanted only friendship.

But that would mean opening the door of his cage much wider.

Kentarou coughed. “I heard some other things,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the car ahead.

“Like what?” Yahaba asked, immediately wary.

You said something about ‘moments’.”

Yahaba gritted his teeth, rubbed his face even more furiously and then stared defiantly across at Kentarou. “I made a mistake, I’m sorry. I know you’re not interested and I get that, and –”

“Who says I’m not?”

“What?”

He inched even closer. “Yahaba, I tried to kiss you,” he admitted. “I wanted to, but then you ran away like I repulsed you, and I thought it was best if we just forgot about it.”

The tear tracks on Yahaba’s face had dried, but were still visible under the white moonlight, glistening like diamonds on his skin.

Kentarou shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I mean what was I supposed to think? You ran to the toilet, and the next thing I heard you were running taps as if you were trying to scrub me off you. So -”

“Oh!” Yahaba gave a wobbly sort of smile. “Um, it’s ... um ...” He gulped and half giggled. “Snogging an ashtray?”

“Pardon?”

“I’d had a cigarette and like, I’d forgotten that until we were actually close up and I didn’t want you to get put off by me, so I – Ha ... I’m such an idiot.”

“That’s why you ran off.”

“Mmm. I swilled out my mouth and chewed half a packet of mints.”

“Oh... ” Was this hope sparking in his chest, the lead weight of earlier becoming lighter and warm? But then, he thought of Yahaba dancing and the reason he was here. “But aren’t you going out with Yachi?”

“Me? Oh, no. We’re old friends, but she gets hassled at work dos if she turns up without a partner, so I kind of volunteer and things are fine. I don’t mind, and she doesn’t get grief from her colleagues trying to match-make, and ... Did you really think she was my girlfriend?”

“Well, yeah.” He scowled, feeling dumb. “But so did Oikawa-san. He was surprised, but he definitely thought it. And Suga-san, too.”

“Wow.” Yahaba’s eyes were round. “I must be a good actor.”

“Starring role,” Kentarou scoffed.

Yahaba peeped at him from between his lashes. His shoulders were shaking and despite his smile, Kentarou could hear the chatter of his teeth.

“You cold?”

“A bit.”

“We could go back inside.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Yahaba said, and stared at him, his eyes intense. “Just us.”

“Oh, then I could ... uh ...”

“What?”

“Warm you up.” He cringed at the cheesiness of the line, but Yahaba didn’t seem to mind, and slid across the bonnet towards him.

“Is this our mo-”

“Stop,” Kentarou muttered. He unwound the scarf from his neck, draping it over Yahaba’s shoulders, then with his hands he rubbed up and down Yahaba’s arms, ending by wrapping his arms around him. “Any warmer?”

“A bit,” Yahaba replied, and flopped his head onto Kentarou’s shoulder. “Kyoutani?”

His breath was warm on Kentarou’s neck.

“Mmm?”

“I haven’t had a cigarette all evening.”

“Huh?”

Yahaba moved his head slightly, peeping up at Kyoutani. “If you wanted to ...um ... take up where we left off on F-Friday.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So?”

“Uh... yeah.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. Yahaba straightened up, then moved his arms around Kentarou’s waist, sliding in front of him, so Kentarou was pressed against the car.

It took a mere second for him to tilt his face upwards, and although he found Yahaba’s cold chin instead of his lips, he was an inch away from his mouth.

Which was warm, and inviting, and soft and -

Just as he’d imagined, or tried not to.

He tasted of ... he tasted of icing and candy and the glass of champagne he must have had before he danced. And as Yahaba leant into him, pressing closer, the kiss intensified. Kentarou lifted his hands, cupping Yahaba’s face, not to push his away, but to feel the silken hair between his fingers, and to marvel that he held something so beautiful.

The stuff of dreams, except Yahaba Shigeru wasn’t a wraith, but real and earthy and here with him at that moment in that time, and fuck it was good.

_Can we stay like this forever?_

“Well, well, well, so this is why you escaped!”

 _Oh bollocks! Why now?_ They broke apart at the sound of Oikawa’s voice. And Oikawa, flanked by Kunimi and Kindaichi, was standing with his hands on his hips, looking increasingly stern.

“Oikawa-san!” Yahaba said. “Er, hi!”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” he snapped. “And Kyoutani, you told Koushi you had a headache just so you could make a rendezvous!”

“It wasn’t like that. I ... I did, but  ... Hold on, what is the problem here?”he demanded, too annoyed to think straight that this was his boss he was confronting. “Suga-san was snogging Sawamura in the kitchen. And copping a feel of his arse!”

Kindaichi made a whinnying type of noise, and even Kunimi opened his sleepy eyes a little wider at this news.

“Was he!” Temporarily distracted, Oikawa stepped closer a smirk on his face. “That explains why he wants to hang around!” Then he remembered he was angry and pulled Yahaba away, punching his arm.

“OW! What was that for?”

“Koushi and Sawamura are single. And Kyoutani is I suppose, so I’m not blaming him, but you ... you snake. Your girlfriend is inside no doubt wondering where you are, and you’re out here kissing your co-worker!” He paused, merely to gasp another breath not long enough for anyone to intervene and returned to the fray. “How am I supposed to look Yacchan in the face knowing what I know? I can’t unsee this, Yahaba. And however cute you look together, this does not excuse –”

 “Um... Oikawa-san,” Kentarou tried.

“Don’t interrupt! I’m too angry!”

“Hey.” Yahaba grinned. “Do we really look cute?”

“Exceptionally,” Oikawa said and sighed. “That’s not the point. Yacchan has a beautiful soul and I will not have you breaking her heart like this!”

“One of us should probably explain,” Kyoutani muttered under his breath.

Yahaba reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. “I’ve got this.”

“No, you haven’t,” Oikawa continued. “And let go of Mad-Dog’s hand! You’re breaking my heart with how adorable you look, but ... poor Yacchan.”

“Oi, Assikawa, I thought you were loading things up in Suga’s van?”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa one-eightied, then shrieked and spread his arms out wide. “And Yacchan! No, stop, don’t come closer!”

“Stop babbling,” Iwaizumi grumped. “I’ve got a stack of baking trays and shit and I don’t want to hang around in the cold.” He stomped closer. “Ah, hi Kentarou, they found you then.”

“Uh... yeah.”

“And ...” Iwaizumi’s eyebrows arched as he took in Yahaba. “Good night, yeah?”

“Iwa-chan, don’t encourage them like this,” Oikawa hissed, “Keep Yacchan away. And you two, STOP HOLDING HANDS!”

“OOOOOOH,” Yachi ran forwards, her face the hugest of smiles. “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. Have you made up? Was it a misunderstanding?” she asked, and flung her arms around Yahaba’s neck. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. I saw the way he looked at you.” And she relinquished him, landing in front of Kentarou and bowing. “See, I said he was lovely, didn’t I?”

“Uh, yeah you did,” he muttered, gruffly, then gave her a wink. “Thanks. If you want your ‘boyfriend’ back for the rest of the party, then –”

“Ahh, maybe it’s just time for me to tell everyone I’m not interested,” she said, huffing out a breath, which sent her fringe fluffing in the air.

“I don’t understand what on earth is going on,” Tooru complained.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Your employees have had the hots for each other since they first met – _everyone_ knew that! It looks as if tonight they’ve finally acted on it. Also Yahaba is Yacchan’s fake date, and they’ve both been taking dance lessons from Kentarou,” Iwaizumi explained, grinning as he counted this out on his fingers. “Have I missed anything out?”

“Yes,” Tooru replied, tossing his hair. “Koushi has finally kissed Sawa-chan.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that. That’s why the cake pops were auctioned off. Well done with that, by the way,” he said to Kentarou. “Sawamura told me you spoke.” Slapping Oikawa on the back of his head, he pulled him away. “Come on, let’s give Kindaichi and Kunimi a lift home. Take it you’re staying, Kentarou-kun?”

Yahaba had slackened his hold, but was staring sideways at Kentarou, so he gave a squeeze and was rewarded with Yahaba’s sunshine smile. “Think I’ll hang around for a while, thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

“No probs. Catch you tomorrow at the gym.” He chuckled. “Bring a friend to watch. You never know, you might impress them.”

With Oikawa alternating between complaining about how confused he was and delighting in the turn of events, Iwaizumi led them away.  And then there were three of them in the car park under the moonlight, but this time Kentarou didn’t feel like the third wheel.

“Before I go back inside,” Yachi said, hopping from foot to foot, “I have a present for you, Kyoutani-san.”

“Huh? Really? Why?”

“For your help,” she said, and wriggled away, reaching into her car to pull out a small bag. “I meant to wrap it, but if you’re staying out here, then you might need them.” And with a last tiny bow, a giggle and then a wave of her hand, she flittered away.

He opened the bag. “Gloves,” he muttered. “She remembered.” And then he pulled them out, and laughed because the gloves were mittens knitted to look like puppies.

“She thinks your nickname is sweet,” Yahaba said, sounding wary. “Honestly, she doesn’t mean anything bad by it.”

“I know that,” he reassured Yahaba. “She’s sweet. And these are fun.” He pulled them over his frozen hands, grinning as the puppies eyes stared balefully up at him. “Although...”

“What?” Yahaba said, worried when Kentarou peeled one mitten off.

He planted another kiss on Yahaba’s lips, then handed him a mitten. “You’re cold too, so take this for one hand and –” He clasped Yahaba’s hand “I’ll keep the other warm.”

“I like that idea,” he replied, and leant back into Kentarou. “Uhm, about tomorrow?”

“What about it?” Kentarou huffed, and nuzzled Yahaba’s cheek, wanting another kiss.

“I know you’re going to the gym, but after that ...” He moved his mouth, finding Kentarou’s neck, then hearing the low groan, he laughed and nipped his earlobe. “Would you like ...” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“To go to the movies? I did promise you tickets.”

“Like a date?”

“Mmm,” he nodded his head, his silky hair tickling Kentarou’s skin, the effect momentarily dizzying his senses. “Your choice of film.”

“I’d ... love to,” he murmured, and leant back across the bonnet, surrendering as Yahaba continued to nuzzle.

“What would you like to see?” Yahaba persisted, pulling away slightly

“I ... I ... really don’t give a fuck,” Kentarou growled, and tugged him back, covering those soft pernicious lips with his own. “Not sure we’ll be concentrating on the movie, will we?”

Yahaba smiled into his neck. “Let’s hope not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I chucked in a bit of fake dating too.
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> All the chapter titles will be song lyrics. In this case, the title is from Let's Face the Music and Dance.


End file.
